


The Secret That Nobody Knows (or, Weight)

by Evenstar24



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics), Suicide Squad (2016)
Genre: F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-26
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-08-11 04:03:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 62,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7875421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evenstar24/pseuds/Evenstar24
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Starting with the end: who is Harley Quinn without the Joker? In her final moments she has to make a choice. To know why, you have to understand that there are versions of versions of everything. A flash of warmth, and blue, and a moment to do as she is told- one last time. These are the things that can never be shared.</p><p>Would you die for love?<br/>The Joker loses something of himself to find someone else.<br/>Harley knows what's true. She always has.</p><p>All you have to do is close your eyes, and take one step closer.</p><p>Based both before and after Suicide Squad, reworked origin, AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The things that can never be shared.

The things that can never be shared.

Floyd Lawton wasn't a fool. Despite the rain, and blood and dirt he knew.

He knew that she had loved him.

And that she was only here because she couldn't leave without his permission, and he was no longer here to give it. And so Deadshot holds out his arm and helps her off the car roof, and says, "we're glad you're back".

And for an instant, she crumbles, and he sees that inside, she's dying. And then it's gone, as if it had never been. Just one thing that can never be shared. Remembers the pain that he thought would kill him when his marriage crumbled.

When he knew he had no decent shot at an ordinary life. How shortly after The Joker had hired him for a job. Paid cash to his daughter's school and assigned a goon to guard the apartment. Inside the envelope with the job he had included a note: "This is the punchline, old friend. After all, what doesn't kill us only makes us... stranger. Just don't lose your wits again- you'll need some gravity. Focus on the job- no need for a killer punchline". And it had been just in time to stop him putting a bullet through his wife's head.

He didn't know how the Joker had known. But he had, he always did. Batman might have ruled the good side of the city, but Joker ruled the bad and he always knew.

The killing joke was that of the two, the Joker was the better man.

* * *

 

Amanda Waller watched the Squad's every move. Her job was to tip the balance. And she had. But that did not mean she didn't feel regret. Despite his occasional bouts of mania he ran the cities underworld smoothly. If asked nicely, he funneled donations to the political man of the moment. Everyone was paid on time, and sure employment with him had a high mortality rate but he kept the balance well.

She had respected his acumen and felt regret.

Which for Waller, was an achievement.

* * *

El Diablo had always been able to see. It had been his blessing, and his curse, as he had grown and filled with so many feelings that weren't his own that one day he killed his wife and children, left them and the only hope he had at being ordinary behind. Left it in ashy remains and since then he had only seen clearer.

Every harsh word, every thought every voice clear and pinging intention through his mind. And ahead of him, was the tiny lethal figure of Harley Quinn. He thought she was a wildcard, and personally a bit of a bitch.

But for a moment he sees her demons- a young woman in glasses and a pencil skirt, never corrupted and hoping. Another version, ready to die for love. Like teenage dreams made real. Another curled into a ball and bleeding away the last hopes of who she had been. Another, tall and proud and gloating. And one more, cleancut and happy, standing next to the Joker- but it isn't. They are both normal as can be, two babies in tow. And finally, the real Harley, in so much pain he could taste it. He knew he was screwed, but he pities her- she's so fucked up it might be kinder if someone put her down.

Everything is just a version, after all. And if it's a version then maybe somewhere else there is a happy one.

In another time, or another place altogether.

And just for a moment, clear as a bell he hears the Joker's laugh- like a signature for the damned.

* * *

Harley Quinn hoped that she would die.

As a last nod she hoped to give June back to Rick, asshole that he was. And then she hopes that Enchantress will take off her head. She just needs to make it a little bit longer, and then- then she can simply let go.

But there is one, shining moment. The enchantress shows her a future, normal and white picketed and happy. She wishes she could burrow into it, live there forever- warm and safe and the baby in her arms even smells real.

It's a very good dream.

But even so, just a dream- for once she doesn't need Diablo to tell her so. If it were real she would be curled up in the Joker's arms. He would smell right. if she opened her eyes she'd be able to trace his tattoos. And that's how she knows what to do. She stabs the Enchantress's heart and does what she needs to.

Then she closes her eyes, sure the end is coming. Rick has a chance and now she can let go. And for a moment, the voices are quiet and she's sitting across from Her Joker, in the therapy room at Arkham.

And he looks at her.

She can feel his warm hand on her face... she holds it in her mind, for once, not distracted. She holds it close, like a secret she can never tell, and waits for the end-

Calm, and still, and unafraid.


	2. Inception

"Tis too much proved that through pious action and devotions visage we may sugar o'er the devil himself."

Polonius, Hamlet

"And Gatsby knew, then, that his count of enchanted objects had decreased by one."

 

0200  
HAHAHA HA Ha Ha ha haaa

Dr Harleen Quinzel, good girl, awoke tangled in sheets so soaked with sweat they were wet, tears streaming down her face, shamefully, furiously, aroused.

She had been having the same, almost there dream for a month now, and was deeply grateful to be moving out and up- her new job at Arkham Asylum started the next day. She had fought very hard for the recommendations needed to get it, and had been proud. Except for a month now she hadn't been able to sleep, having the same tangled dream over and over again, fuzzy and pained. All she could remember was the laugh. Then she would throw a towel under herself and touch herself until she could come and fall asleep.

Tonight all she remembered was the sound of laughter and a soft blue, but it was enough to leave her could only conclude that it was fear, fear of change and finally getting to leave the city that had left her without family and alone. Tonight she had an aching head- and stumbled for the aspirin and towels, falling back into her bed in her faceless apartment dreaming of laughter and blue.

0800 -

Harley sips her coffee as she drives up to the Arkham Asylum. All traces of sleeplessness have been banished, and she is neatly tucked, brushed and contained. The famous Dr Leeland awaits, similar to Harley herself but probably two decades older and a little fierce looking. But she spots Harleen and waves, face breaking into a warm smile that transforms her whole face.

"Hello Dr Quinzel- can I call you Harleen? I'm Anne Leeland, welcome to Arkham. I'm sorry Dr Arkham isn't here to welcome you, but one of our most famous patients has just been returned, and he's been called away. Come on through- I'll take you to your Office, and we'll grab another coffee."

Despite Dr Leeland's (Anna, please) welcome, Arkham feels like a prison and twice as dreary. Despite the vast amounts of funding from the Wayne foundation and some city grants, it was cold and unwelcoming, and water dripped down the walls in a slow, steady drip. Still, she was replacing Jonathon Crane, who had gone mad here. That should have told her something. She shook off her fear and refocused on Anna.

But just as she was regaining her equilibrium, the front doors burst open Dr Arkham in the lead, followed by a group of armed guards. **"Welcome back, Joker"** and something in Dr Arkham's words is menacing. She realizes that she wouldn't want to be his patient, and taps her hand nervously, wishing she could smoke inside. She looks up a second time and the guards have parted, unchaining something, and then she sees him. He's even taller than she expected, and the shock of green contrasts starkly with his pale face. Even so, he's handsome, and well dressed- a twisted version of a gentleman. He's sneering down at Dr Arkham, and the look on his face is frightening. He's so still and Harleen is entranced.

As if sensing an audience, he looks up, and his eyes find hers and she knows that blue, she's seen it every night for a month. And she's lost in it. He holds her gaze, and then nods, ever so slightly and smiles. Not a frightening grin, but rather the slow smile of an old friend you haven't seen for a while. In that second it's as if he really, truly _sees_ her. It's the equivalent of being stripped off in public, and Harleen would be blushing if she weren't captured in that blue.

Instead she smiles back.

But the moment is broken, and he turns to hand his jacket to the orderly nearest him. "Please don't ruin it, I like this one". And he sedately walks across the atrium with Dr Arkham. Harleen shakes herself and turns away, prompting Anna to take her to her office.

The violence erupts suddenly, like lighting a match and before she turns around the guards are down and the Joker moves toward her quickly and lithely. She should run. Hide. Something. But she stays completely still, staring, until he's an inch from her and she can smell him, and he smells like rain and sweaty musk and dirty hair and it's intoxicatingly good. He leans close but doesn't touch her and the words spill out like poison- **pretty pretty pretty pretty pretty pretty** and Harleen, raised to politeness and caught, _heart pounding like a rabbit in a snare_ and the **please** whispers out her mouth as if it had been waiting there all along, as if a word were a physical thing, _heavier than breathing._

And then his hands are on her, one pulling the pins from her hair, the other sliding her skirt up and then his hand is on her thigh, rising higher and she knows he'll feel the scars, and she automatically clamps them closed, but he's strong and feels them anyway. And a slow grin curls across his face like _acid_ and the hand that was touching her neck is suddenly cutting of her windpipe and she can't breathe and it's the most alive she's ever felt and he reaches a little _higher_.

Then the moment is lost, Dr Arkham has called for more guards- it's been less than a minute. In a smooth movement he smooths her skirt back down in place and steps back, hands raised **"Relax. It was just a joke!"**

No-one has seen, and the guards hit him, hard, across the ribs and then a baton to the head, and he's dragged away, while Harleen looks on horrified.

And then Annas hand is around her shoulders and she's being fed tea, warm, and being sent home. Anna tries to reach her, but it just isn't there. She drives home in a daze, almost dangerously. Sudden inexplicable exhaustion takes over, and as soon as she makes it inside, she falls onto her couch, barely managing to get her work clothes off, and falls into a deep and warm sleep.

She dreams of sweat, dirty hair, warm skin, and blue. And it's like **drowning**. And she'd give up anything at all for the **silence**.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Soundtrack:  
> Me and The Devil by Soap and Skin  
> VAST Touched


	3. Just a momentary Interlude- A parallel outcome on an alternate timeline.

* * *

 

"Do you know how to do anything but wreak havoc? You know, the thing about chaos is that it's fair."

* * *

The Joker sat, disheveled and filthy full of rage. The room around him, which had, the week before, been arranged in neat circles- computers, clothes, drinks, information- it had all been ruined. Ripped apart, torn, burned. The room stinks of burned paper and dirty body. The side of his face is burned, half healed and stinking of infection.

He can't bring himself to do anything about it.

The city is a mess. He has every man in Gotham poised for information, and if they so much as owe him a debt they're looking for her. He's drunk. He knows he shouldn't be- bad men make mistakes when they're at at this kind of disadvantage. The truth is, that he's exactly like the system that opposes him- the only difference is that he refuses to bow.

He thinks of what they've done and laughs, angrily. _And they call me the villain_ , he thinks.

He hears a knock. It's Johnny Frost, the only one of them brave enough to come anywhere near him. Frost has already let himself in, and he sits, waiting. This is why the Joker keeps him closest. He isn't afraid. Of course he wouldn't be. Not after the hole he had dug him out from. Even so, the even, steady look Frost gives him tickles the edge of his rage, and it's hard to ignore the desire to hit him. To fuck him up until he's afraid. Finally, he lifts a hand- the sooner he speaks the sooner he can get the fuck out again.

"Boss. She's not in Belle Reve. Anyone who was there isn't talking. Waller is constantly unavailable. She's holed up somewhere we can't get at her. There's only one more option, and I had to call in a favor. Lawton. Griggs is waiting."

* * *

Frost, for his part, is **waiting**.

He watches his Boss, the man he had followed, and respected, for years, struggle to his feet. Frost knows he's drunk, knows why. Knows he has to get him through. He's never seen him such a mess. The Joker he knows is captivating, lethal, brilliant. The man in front of him is talking to someone who isn't there. He isn't even dressed. His body glows white in the uncertain light. He's filthy, and he can smell the stench from here, the pus building up in his face like poison. Just one more- it's not as if the Joker doesn't have many.

The truth is, though- Johnny had waited, trying to play out the different outcomes. He thinks, although he won't say it, that Quinn is dead. And he feels fear. He doesn't really believe in love. Or at least he doesn't feel it the same way other people do. But if love really still mattered- the Joker and Harley had it. A fucked up, twisted, punishing love. But as real and tangible as a blade. So palpable you could touch it. The kind you see once in a lifetime, if you're really, really lucky. The truth is, Johnny thinks she's dead. He thinks the city is holding its collective breath, waiting for his Boss to realize it, too. Waiting for him to retaliate.

Not that the man in front of him is capable of much- the flesh is melting of his already gaunt frame like candle wax on a wine bottle. He thinks that Lawton got the short straw, and by God he respects his courage. He reminds himself to make sure that no-one is carrying at the meet. He waits, patiently. But his Boss stumbles again and falls to a knee- Johnny hasn't been able to get him to eat for days.

And Johnny does what no-one else would dare to do. He steps up, and grabs his Boss under the armpits, gracelessly. He's so light that he could lift him, like a child.

"Come on boss. Let's getcha cleaned up."

And Johnny Frost, feared right hand man of the baddest bad guy in the city, fumblingly cleans him up, washes him, and cleans the pus out of his face. He pours coffee and advil down him, and forces him to eat.

_And he's never felt more pity in his whole life._

**If the Joker were really here, he'd say it's a laugh. But the joke isn't funny anymore.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack:  
> A Thousand Details- composed by Trent Reznor from The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo soundtrack.
> 
> or The Seconds Drag
> 
> Either work. A Thousand details has more build.
> 
> I will add honorable mentions as we go along.


	4. Property Of

* * *

 

"Soames Forsyte could best be described as a man of property"

* * *

And then I woke up, from the best sleep I'd had in a long time. The blueness faded from behind my eyes, like footsteps echoing into silence. I feel better than I've felt in the longest time.

The truth- well, as close as you're going to get- is that I was wrong from the start. The first child of diffident people who were unable to care for me, then felt the nagging desire to repeat the mistake until one day my father lost it. Poisoned everyone in the house, and the only reason I escaped was that I'd been hiding.

So I'm more acquainted with poison than anyone at Arkham might imagine, including my new bosses. I know it's not quite done to interrupt the story like this, but I feel it's necessary- you need to understand that I trained as a psychiatrist because I'm already broken. If there's hope for the very worst, there's hope for me too.

Or at least, I _hope_ so.

But for the longest time now I've felt as if I am fighting a losing battle- the whispers are louder, and despite an improperly obtained ambien prescription, I haven't been able to sleep. And then I saw him. The smell of him rolls around in the back of my mind like salted chocolate, and I have to get out of my shitty, claustrophobic apartment. I shower as quickly as possible, water scalding, and pull on the nearest singlet top I can find, covering over my back covered all over, as it is, in ink.

The nearest thing to clubwear I own is a purple leather mini skirt, and as tacky as it is, on it goes. You can see the beginning of my scar line, but I don't give a fuck. Smudged eyeliner and a red lip later, and on a whim, a heart below my eye, I brush out my hair and grab my cigarettes and gun it to The White Ribbon. It's a rather Tongue in Cheek joke- one of Gotham's most infamous Madam's would tie white ribbons around the wrists of first timers at her club, warning the house regulars not to wield the whips too hard on them. Like the rest, I've heard The Joker used to be a regular, a long time ago. Who knows? The rumors might even be true. I'd like to think I'm coming because I want to know more, but really I'd like to find someone with some kind of happy pills then dance until they close.

The mood is loud and frenetic, and it takes several minutes for me to get a barman's attention- _goddamit_ I just want a drink. I'm usually quite patient, but not tonight. I slug the dry martini in three swallows and make it onto the floor- they're playing Autoerotique's Asphyxiation. I dance that through to the end, but it's not enough. I want to feel frenetic, like the jolt of electricity earlier in the day- you know, touch is such a powerful thing. And when you don't have that many people in your life- well have you ever counted the days since someone touched you? Let alone the number since someone touched you other than your hands.

I stumble my way off the floor, looking for a source. Of course, it isn't the wisest idea, but in my current mood I couldn't care less. I light a cigarette, and look around. The mood is only getting hotter, and it seems like everyone is moving harder, mood only heats as the song switches to Daft Punk, - a harder remix. The VIP booth is currently closed. A white ribbon is pulled across the entry, and sitting, working on a laptop is Johnny Frost- the Joker's right hand man. I'm feeling cheeky.

I ignore the ribbon and lift a leg high over it, cartwheeling onto the high backed booth wall and sitting on it. Johnny lifts a brow and asks what he can help me with? He's obviously entertained which is probably the only reason I don't have a glock cocked in my cheek. Of course a quick glance shows he's running his accounts, so any distraction is probably welcome. _"Johnny, I have a bit of a problem. I'd really like to dance up there, but I'd like to laugh a little more first. Can you help me with that?"_ Johnny, who seems to be charmed, grins and waves a hand at someone.

What would you like to dance to?, he asks, as a dirty martini and something white that I don't even look at are delivered. I swallow them back and say "Joker's Choice", and dump a 50 on the table. I grin at him and move back onto the floor, where Die Antwoord's Cookie Thumper is finishing up. I'm heading for one of the platforms. Johnny Frost raises a glass to me, and then signals to the DJ. The beginning chords of Paradise Circus- but a hard mix- I think Zed's Dead.

Doesn't matter, but the choice makes me grin. And then I let the feelings take over, and start to dance. The drugs throb through my system, harder and faster. The crowd pumps up even more. A fight starts at the edge of the crowd, and I'm dimly aware that the speakers are getting louder, and sweat is running down my hair. It rolls into Angel, and suddenly people in the crowd are grinding, kissing, and the pace is overly hot. Then Stripped by Shiny Toy Guns. I dance until I can't anymore, ending with my shirt rolled up, which I wouldn't usually do. In the center of my back is the old ink, and then a large burn scar. The property of is still clear and black, as no lazer would ever take it off, and the scar is threaded and thick. I don't care. I'm dripping with sweat, and momentarily satisfied.

I hop towards the edge, surprised to see Johnny Frost, holding a spare white shirt and a drink. I pull the clean cotton over my head, and slug the drink. And grin- it's lemon water in a martini glass. He also offers up an Advil.

_"You're welcome anytime, Dollface. Sold more booze on a Tuesday than all the rest put together. So whatever you did, you're welcome to again."_

I start laughing and kiss him on the cheek. Then I thread my way out, it's time to sleep. I'm going to go home and get 4 hours in, before it's time to work. I'm glad he doesn't ask me my name.

* * *

In a cell in Arkham, a Guard knocks on The Joker's Cell door.

Like any insomniac, I'm up.

"What can I do for you Brad?" Brad doesn't even reply- _rude little shit_ \- just pushes a tablet through the cell box. You have an hour, he grunts.

I make my way painfully, up. They really went for it earlier. Half my face is darkly bruised, and I'm fairly certain I cracked a rib. Worth it for a little bit of entertainment. Should be as easy as a cat playing with a mouse, and I love a little entertainment. The tiny little thing almost came all over my hands. It really was too easy. I scroll through through the accounting, pleased to see positive numbers. Johnny has paid everyone on time, and there's still plenty in the tank. Good. There was some mess in Midway, but it was easily cleaned up. He's done exactly ask I asked- I wanted to see it before they try and drug me up to my eyeballs. Johnny's dumped a note on the desktop.

_Boss-_

_Go into the videos folder. We had an interesting guest tonight._

_I'd hire her if I could, she got them whipped into a frenzy._

_Look at tonight's numbers._

_Johnny_

_PS: She asked that the song be "Jokers Choice"._

I slip the earbuds into my ears and tap the videos icon. There's only one thing- about an hour long, and I certainly don't have time for all of it. The vid finally loads.

 _"Oh well, the devil makes us sin, but we like it when we're spinning in his grip."_ I'm confused as to what I'm supposed to be looking at until the camera refocuses. I watch, transfixed. It's like the air around her **shimmers** with want. Or at least you'd think so, the way the dancers are reacting. I watch the chaotic frenzy, the way people are closer, drinking heavily. I watch her. And it's _magnetizing_. I've never seen a woman that palely insignificant turn around and sweat chaos into a crowd like that. I scroll through, towards the end, into stripped. People in the crowd are an _inch_ away from fucking on the dancefloor.

She's shiny with sweat, and she finally rolls her top up. Across her back is a huge dark swirl of copperplate lettering, that reads **"Property Of** ", and beneath it, an enormous white web of scarring.

Oh, it really is _too good_. Perhaps not insignificant at all. Johnny comes into focus, and she drinks something and pulls on one of my shirts. I can't help but laugh, because I'd like to **fuck her, too**. And I wasn't even _there_.

I tap the email icon, and email Johnny.

_Find out who she is. Everything."_

The message Icon pings back seconds later.

_"Already on it, Boss."_

I'm not anywhere near done. The whisper in my ear says I should stick my brand there. What a Logo that would make! And then the whispering is laughing, laughing that will last all night long.

**Come to daddy, little girl. I'm waiting.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Songs-
> 
> Massive Attack, Paradise Circus
> 
> Asphyxiation, Autoerotique
> 
> Massive Attack, Angel
> 
> Rev 22:20
> 
> Stripped, Shiny Toy Guns


	5. I want to feel you from the inside, or Frenzy.

* * *

 

**"Escape was just a nod and a casual wave,**

**Obsess about it heavy for the next few days**

**It's only just a crush it'll go away**

**it's just like all the others it'll go away**

**But maybe this is danger and you just don't know"**

**-Tear You Apart- she wants revenge**

* * *

Oof. Talk about deserving a pounding head. But the message from Dr Leeland (Anna!) tells me I've got my first session today- so I fall out of bed in a tangle of bedhair, alcohol fumes and cigarette smoke. Coffee. Lots of coffee. I am tearing through- as it is, I'll be 10 minutes late. I find my skirt hanging in the wardrobe, and pull on the nearest white shirt. Lips, hair (high pony) and I'm out the door and tearing in to work.

I'm still feeling mischeivous after last night, and I break every speed limit en route and tear in to the carpark in a spray of gravel. I'm right on time. I race in and clock in, and find Anna waiting in my office ( **Jesus Christ does anyone ever leave?** ). But she's smiling and holding some coffee, and something about the way she smiles is disarming. Before I know it, we're seated and she's telling me about my first patient- Pam Isley. Not a great deal though- I get the impression she doesn't want me to be biased. Apparently she comes in once a year for treatment, and has free movement privileges. I'm intrigued, but I have to ask-

_Is she dangerous?_

Anna smiles, somewhat sadly.

_Not to you- she'll meet you in the greenhouses at 1. But before then I'd like you to read over the notes of these 3- and look at the group therapy schedule. Then- Jack Thomas- he's one of our regulars. He's an autist- and generally very harmless. He's moving back into group morning teas- I'd like you to sit with him. He remains calm if someone is holding his hand- Brad will accompany you. You'll be perfectly safe. His crime was committed under great stress- his family was abusing him._

I am on a tight schedule, and to be honest, I'm not really completely here. I rush along to room 203 to collect Jack- Brad accompanies me and he's sweet and smiling, if non-communicative. I hold his hand and we head into the cafeteria, where a table has been cleared for us. What I'm not counting on is that the Joker is allowed morning tea, too. Accompanied by two guards, he's not even reduced by the presence of a straitjacket. Of course, they pull up the floor chains and get him attached by the wrists.

But the truth is, I'm not afraid. Even if I should be. Until he crosses his legs and looks up- and **stares** at me.

* * *

Ha. This is going to be fun. The only real question is if she's going to fight me. Johnny did his job well. Harleen Frances Quinzel, 23 years old. Graduated two months ago. Grew up in a home. No family to speak of. Something obviously happened, but the records are sealed. Johnny's working on it. Newest crazy doctor at arkham and replacement for Johnny Crane. But really, she just keeps surprising me. She's wearing my shirt.

**I mean, really.**

I can't help but laugh, and the whole cafeteria freezes. I suppose at an eventual point, you just have that effect on people. Perhaps tone it down to a chuckle. Watching her squirm is delightful. Freddy, that utter cunt, leans over me, and asks if I'm going to eat. It's the perfect opportunity to see what she'll do- so I lean around him and say, of course. But not that. And I roll my sleeves up, slowly, so that she can see, and then lift a hand to my face and mime licking something else. I'm expecting her to jerk back, move to leave. And she does, but not how I expect. She does get up, but it's only to come closer. Instead she laughs and says _"you're missing out J. Good tea is in short supply, but I imagine the other isn't._ " And she picks up my tea and drinks it, and then moves to walk away.

Ah. Not **done** yet, pretty.

And I grab her shirtsleeve. The reaction is instantaneous- Freddy the cunt cracks open his baton and goes to hit me with it. No matter- but she holds up the other hand to stop him. What he can't see is that I'm stroking her wrist. She smiles sweetly at me and says "Yes?" I lean back in my chair and look at Freddy and grin at him- I was only going to say I like your shirt. Particularly the cuff links. She flushes as she looks closer, and sees that they are tiny, tiny J's.

 _It was a gift from a friend_ \- defiant to the last then.

 _I know. He said you put on a wonderful show. Quite the visual creature, aren't you?_ At that she does walk out, gesturing to Brad to escort Jack out, and I can't do anything but laugh harder. The entire cafeteria panics again, and Freddy decides it's a good time to escort me out.

**Why so serious?**

* * *

I end up in the nearest ladies room. _Goddammit_. I let him back me into a corner. Obviously he remains connected even in here. Well, if he wants a show, then he's going to get one. I rip the links out and roll my sleeves up.

But I should have controlled myself here. I have no doubt I'll be reprimanded for that.

Decision made, I head for the greenhouse , and go in. And by god it's gorgeous in here. Blooming roses, and every tropical flower you could think of. There's a patch of huge, black roses. I lean over to smell them enchanted, and a voice like a bell rings out- _Don't smell that! I mean it won't kill you, but you might regret the nausea later._ And in front of me is a startlingly beautiful redhead, wearing a hat and spraying the plants. And by beautiful, I mean every man's dream of copulation. Well, and woman's. Then she turns and smiles, and it dissipates. And she's an ordinary, but kindly looking woman with a very warm smile.

_You must be Pam Isley- I'm Dr Harleen Quinzel. Dr Leeland asked me to handle your session, and I've read your file but I'm not really sure what you're here for._

She looks steadily at me, then-

_Oh, just someone to talk to- Anna didn't tell you, did she? I can't touch anyone, or they die, in the end. This is my way of staying connected. After all, I can talk to my plants, but they certainly don't talk back. I fell in love with a lovely woman this year, but my hopes were dashed. She's in love with someone else. Shall we sit?_

She turns to pour out something herbal from a pot, and it clicks **who** she is. I can't help but flush. But she takes a seat and we sit and talk as if we've known each other for a lifetime. She's warm, and funny, and fucking damaged. My kind of girl. Instead of any kind of therapeutic work, we just talk. The time passes all the way till 4- she's told me about how she's involved in many environmental projects, and what she hopes for, and about the lady that she lost. But soon she turns the conversation unobtrusively to me. I don't mind telling her- it's clear she means no harm. She asks me if I've ever been in love.

_No. I don't know how to do that._

_Well_... and she looks carefully down and lifts something out of her pocket. _I was asked to give you this, and I owe him a favor._ And she hands me a card. It's his card. Written in an old fashioned copperplate along the bottom of it is Guest of the House. She squeezes my hand and says _Be careful. I've known him a very long time. He can't help but.. **hurt**. It's in his nature, just as growing is in mine. He's older than he looks. Tread carefully. He's interested in you._

I sip my tea.  
_Well he's not going to this time. Not without a fight. Actually, I'm going in tonight. Come along. You might enjoy it._

Pam agrees to come. I go to kiss her on the cheek, and she moves to stop me, but I ignore it. And it's fine. She smiles warmly and promises to be at The White Ribbon at 11. I pass via Anna's office on the way out- she's distracted and asks me how it went with Pam. _Great!_ She looks briefly concerned but sends me home. Good. I need to have a nap, but then I've got work to do. And a mix to prepare.

* * *

10:45pm

I'm not a big fan of waiting. I like entertainment. I want to see if she'll take up my invitation. Pam says she's coming, so she plans on something, at the very least. Nor is she aware that men like me get privileges. As a consequence I'm not watching a video this time. I'm standing on the upper level, looking down on the dance floor towards the stage. Of course I'll have to be back by morning. I take a slug of my drink, and Pam taps me on the shoulder- I know it's her because she smells like roses and a compost heap. She's a knockout in a white dress, even with the green lips. It takes me a second to shake it off.

_You didn't walk in in front of Johnny like that, did you? The poor man will have a seizure._

She laughs and takes the drink I hand her, but says nothing. I'm starting to feel testy when Pam taps me- _Tread gently J. She's different._ I want to say something cutting back about how only a woman who kills everyone off would pick it, but she's pointing. She's hanging from ribbons that are falling from the ceiling.

**"I can smell the fear the only reason that I'm here, is to wreak havoc"**

And then the bars open to a remix of Burning desire, and I can't do anything but stare. She moves like she's about to die. The pace of the mix is fast, frenetic, and the dancers on the floor start to feel it. The whole room changes. People are pushing closer together, and it's all ramping. And she's hanging above it all like some kind of boneless fucktoy.

_Fuck it Pam. We're going downstairs._

And I drag her down with me, the pace ramping up with Placebo, then a quick switch back to a faster paced Paradise Circus. The crowd is getting louder and she's swinging from rope to rope more quickly. Glitter is falling down into the crowd and the bar is falling behind. The crowd parts for Pam and I though, and I settle in to watch. Another fast switch to closer, and the dancers are starting to change, people are being groped, and in the middle of the floor clothes are coming off. I can even feel it. I'm drinking harder and faster than I would, but I'm amazed the people who are closer aren't more affected.

**"I can smell the fear, the only reason that I'm here, is to wreak havoc"**

and it cuts back to shiny toy guns and someone's pulling off someone else's shirt mid floor-it's louder and hotter. Johnny is doing bar service and the atmosphere feels like being high. I could fuck anything right now.

**"seek you out, flay you alive/let me see you stripped down to the bone"**

And suddenly I'm harder than rock and I want to go and beat the shit out of someone. I can smell the violence in the air and it's like I've just shot heroin.

**"you and me, you and me won't be unhappy/one more word and you won't survive"**

And she's on the stage on her knees, shining and fucking crazy, my shirt yanked off and holstered fucking pistols on the ground. The people on the floor who were half fucking are confused, and someone's pulled a knife and is running it down someone else's front.

**"I can smell the fear the only reason that I'm here is to wreak havoc"**

And then Pam's grabbing my arm and screaming at me, and I realize it's out of control. Of course the Immune bitch picks it. Goddammit.

**"You let me violate you./If only I could make a deal with god"**

The crowd doesn't move this time, and I have to fight my way to the front. Someone has a gun in the mouth of the woman who just gave him a blowjob. Shit. I _want_ very much to join in.

**"I can smell the fear the only reason that I'm here is to wreak havoc"**

I finally make it to her, and she's on her knees on stage moving so fluidly she's like water glowing whitely with and the scars shine in the light. I get up there and get close enough to reach out and touch her. Her eyes are so black if she were any fucking higher she wouldn't come back. And she pulls a fucking gun on me.

 **"I can't help myself I fall, I can't help myself at all,** **I said God forgive me please, coz I want you on your knees,** **It's dark in my imagination"**

And suddenly I'm fucking furious. I could peel her skin back with a scalpel, piece by piece. Doesn't she know where she is? So I push forward into the muzzle, and something falters. I squeeze the wrist holding it hard enough to make her drop it. **Then I beckon her forward and do what I've wanted to do for the last half hour.** I smash her across the face, hard enough to make her head spin. She almost goes down, lips bleeding. But then something unexpected happens. She starts laughing.

And then she straightens and delivers a left hook that's hard enough to split my lip, not hard enough to make me drop.

**"I could fake it But I still want more, Fade, made the fade, Passion's overrated anyway"  
**

I can't help but laugh. And then she takes advantage and leans into me, biting my bottom lip, hard. Then she sucks on it. And then I could fuck her right there. **Or kill her. I don't know which.** So instead I knuckle my hands into the scar tissue on her back and lift her up, holding her still by grabbing her throat. And off the floor we go- we're lucky no-one's dead after that little stunt.

I signal to Johnny to get it under control, which he's already started doing. I get us up the stairs, the little bitch laughing in my arms. She's trying to fight me off, and so I do the only thing I can do. I yank off my shirt and Get us into the bathroom and turn on the spray. All I can do is hold on. Fortunately she's been distracted. She's tracing the ink on my skin and good god it's like a _jolt_ of electricity to my cock.

I grab at her hands- and hold her still, and, like a small child, she curls into me and falls asleep.

**I like it so much I want to hit her again.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The songs referenced are:
> 
> Wreak Havoc, from the suicide squad album
> 
> Running Up that Hill, Placebo
> 
> Closer NIN
> 
> Burning Desire, Lana del Rey
> 
> Dissolved Girl, Massive Attack
> 
> Dark in My Imagination, Oh Verona.


	6. Aftermath, or where the monsters are.

* * *

 

**"Madness is really just a matter of perspective"**

* * *

 

_What a night._

I should be exhausted, but whether it's the effect of the alcohol, or whatever the fuck it was that the crazy bitch (who was currently asleep in my bed, which really pissed me off) did, I can't say. If it's ever time for a drink, now is it. I pour a generous measure of whiskey on the rocks. On second thought, I'll just take the bottle. It takes a second to yank out a fresh vest and pants and then I'm out. _Bottle in tow._

_It's time to go down and see what kind of havoc was wreaked on my bar._

Instead of mayhem, the bar is clean and quiet, and there seem to be a few chairs missing, but aside from that it's all surprisingly undamaged. As if the madness was a dream. The only clue that anything at all happened are the streamers hanging from the stage roof, and that we're closed 3 hours early. **"I fucked my way up to the top** " is finishing and leading into **"you can be the boss daddy"** and as I turn the curve in the stairs, I find Pam and Johnny.

_Is the music your version of funny, Pam?_

They both startle up, and not even a chuckle. Pam hasn't had a sense of humor since the 50's, so of course she knows I'm ribbing her. They're sitting on the stairs holding hands.

 _Get your hands off my henchman, Pam. I'm due back in the madhouse in 3 hours and I haven't got time to train another._ She lifts her hands and I can see she's gloved. She moves to let go- _Oh relax you two_ , and Johnny holds on tight. He's a good man but good god he needs to let this one **go** already.

_So what happened?_

__"Not much, Boss. We lost a couple bottles of booze, and some chairs. Someone had a bit of a fight, but it wasn't hard to clean up. As soon as you got her out, it was like turning off a switch. Well, not for Pammy and me, but everyone else quieted down."_ _

___Alright. Who wants a drink?_ And they both hold out glasses and I dish out some generous sloshes of whisky into their glasses. Johnny better not try to keep up with Pam. She metabolizes quickly and she'll drink him under the table given half the chance. But Johnny's right- the air in here is thick with something. Pam yanks the bottle out of my hands and pours herself another, and Johnny, the idiot, matches her. "The real question is, she says, wry as she can possibly manage, what did *you* do? Don't think I haven't noticed you changed- and she uses the pointy end of the bottle to gesture at me. She's drunker than I thought._ _

_Nothin, Boss I promise!_ and I sound like Sammety Sam and flutter my lashes at her. In response she throws some icecubes at me, which I promptly pick up and hold against my jaw.

_Thanks Pammy. Didn't know you cared._

I'm obviously pissing her off, because tendrils of vine grow out of her wrists and in the uncertain light she seems greener.

_Ok, ok. Seriously, nothing. I got her out of the bar, and I really didn't know how to deal with someone trying to claw me to death, so I got her into the shower, stopped her touching me and the hot water put her to sleep. I wrapped her up. She's asleep. I haven't touched her. And you're lucky, too Pammy. A few more minutes and I might have either killed her or fucked her. Or maybe fucked her to death. I like options. So retract the fucking vines, alright?_

Instead one of them has twirled around my back and it smooths something gloopy over my jaw, then she pulls it in.

_Oh come on Pam. You know I hate that smelly crap._

__She only smirks at me._ _

_Yeah, so, brainstrust: or in this case keeper of little Miss crazy upstairs- we have about an hour and a half to figure out what to do. Hour 45 if I drive the lambo back. Which isn't really advisable. So we're all agreed there's something a little off, right? Most people can't dance a hundred people into a riot. I have no doubt she could probably do the same thing to a city block. The question is: does she *know* what she can do? I'm gonna go with, no. I'm also going to guess that she can't do it without a fair whack of something in her system. When I got up there she was higher than high. Reminded me unpleasantly of that thing with the smiling fish, back in the 90's._ (I had a little _issue_ with heroin when it first made it's way to market). That was just before Johnny's time, but Pam nods.

__"So *what* do we do?_ "well we can't tell anyone", Pam interjects. "And I've no idea how to teach her how to handle it. I don't need anything to do what I do." _

_Johnny, you got any more information?_

__"No, Boss. Waller's moving slowly on it. I'll push her. How hard?" (He means how much more should he pay her.)_ _

_I want it tomorrow. Tell her I'm amenable to treatment. I think, kids, that I'm gonna need a new psychiatrist. Pay her whatever you have to._ Pam looks mad. _Well baby girl, you got a better idea?_

 _Johnny, get Pam a copy of Wallers dossier, and I want one too. Pam, you scheduled for some more therapy?_ I can't help but aggravate her, and I make big quotation marks in the air. Pam pours another drink but doesn't rise to the bait. Shame.

 _Yes. Good. Keep talking to her. Can you smear some goop on her and get her home in a few hours?_ She nods. The speakers roll over.

__**"Wish I may, wish I might find my one true love tonight.** _ _

__**I'm a sociopath, sweet serial killer, on the warpath and I love you just a little too much."** _ _

Johnny bursts into a very unmanly giggle at the interjection. Time to yank the booze back from Pam. _Pam- stop pouring him drinks- he can't keep up._ Johnny giggles again, and so does Pam, and it draws a sharp laugh from me too. **Advil and coffee for me** , he says, and hops off the stairs on a weaving search to go and find some. Pam leans closer and pours us both another whiskey. "So, J. "(Shit. I know that tone.) "You've been... well, lately."

 _I live in an asylum for the criminally insane, Pam. You might want to re-assess._ I'm hoping she'll drop it. No such luck.

"But you're less".. she struggles to find what she's looking for. I know if I don't cut in, she'll keep going and I do *not* need the awkwardness after the day I've had. I sigh, and rummage around in Johnny's jacket. _Pam, I'm going to smoke, if you want to have this discussion. You'll have to suck it._ Obviously she has the bit between her teeth, because she doesn't even protest. _It's... better. I'm taking the drugs. I... I don't like how they curb what I am, but it's quieter. Sometimes I can sleep. Sometimes that feels like a good thing. But I can't help but feel like something has to give._

__The woman upstairs might be it. I think it, but I can't say it._ _

__Pam smiles at me, and for a second she's otherwordly beautiful. "I'd give anything to take a pill and be able to curb my nature." Johnny stumbles back in. Still three sheets to the wind, but less drunk. "Pam! Pam. Come and dance with me." Oh my god. **He's wrapped himself in plastic.** It's hard to hold back hysterical laughter. "Look what I did! we can dance. And Imma never going to be drunk enough to ask again. Or... or plasticky man enough. You can't say no!" I shove her off the step- any man covered in glad wrap deserves it. For once she keeps her mouth shut, and goes and takes his hands. He's a big man, and she's small compared- she can rest her head on his chest. The wrinkle of plastic almost makes laughter spill again-_ _

__But then the music starts._ _

__**"My body is a cage,** _ _

__**that keeps me from dancing with the one I love,** _ _

__**but my mind holds the key** _ _

__**I'm living in an age** _ _

__**Whose name I don't know** _ _

__**Though the fear keeps me moving** _ _

__**Still my heart beats so slow"** _ _

__And the man says he can't love. But Pam looks like she might crumble, as if every hurt could come falling out, like lost things. Exotic flowers bloom suddenly around her, and her skin darkens. The floor is suddenly filled with vines. Sometimes I forget she's fucking terrifying._ _

__And so, rather than going when I should, I stay, and get drunker, and watch them dance, through this, and then_ _

__**"Help, I have done it again** _ _

__**I have been here many times before** _ _

__**Hurt myself again today** _ _

__**And the worst part is there's no one else to blame** _ _

__**Be my friend, hold me"** _ _

__and finally, something that **sounds like music boxes**. Pam's crying. I pretend not to notice, but I still kiss her on the head on the way out. And spit whatever the fuck it is that tastes like ass and grass juice out._ _

The thing about being a bad guy is that you know not to look for monsters under the bed. **They live inside us.** And sometimes, seep out our very skin. I take the lambo back and do 200km an hour all the way. For once nothing happens. For just a moment, though- I want to drive it straight into a concrete wall. **The urge passes.** I finish the whisky before I go in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN:
> 
> Songs Referenced:
> 
> Fucked my way up to the top
> 
> You can be the boss daddy
> 
> Serial Killer
> 
> All by Lana Del Rey
> 
> My Body is A Cage- there's the Peter Gabriel Version, or the Arcade Fire one. Either is fine.
> 
> Breathe Me, Sia
> 
> and last:
> 
> Either Casanova Love theme from the 2005 mini series, or What if We Could by Trent Reznor. both work, and I don't care which one you pick


	7. Was it the Right Decision, or, a Deal Struck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Guys, Harleen's up next, but for now we're needing a slightly more reliable narrator.
> 
> I'm getting a number of views and I know at least some of you like it, but feedback would be much appreciated.  
> I'm really no good without pathos, so I'm afraid we're serious..
> 
> Thanks for reading, we've quite a way to go!

* * *

 

**There are very few monsters who warrant the fear we have of them**

* * *

 

Amanda Waller isn't afraid of **anyone**.  
Or so I think to myself as I take a moment to fix my lipstick.  
I was born in the Narrows, and I wasn't going to die there. 20 years of refusing to quit had brought me here.

To a meeting with The Joker.

He'd asked for me. Of course, he'd asked for me to come to him, being currently detained in Arkham, trussed up like a drowned rat. Well, in the daylight hours. What we were politely not mentioning is that he has leaving priveleges. In exchange for keeping his men on a leash. Of course, he could have seen me at night, in his own Kingdom. The fact that he didn't says that he wants me to agree- I don't like being leaned over.  I suspect he knows that. People like The Batman might believe that all crime in Gotham must be crushed.  
I'm not so _naive_.

Everything has to hang in the balance- without a sufficient amount of fear, chaos reigns. I see The Joker as an irritating, if necessary evil. After all, what would The Batman be without an adversary? A vigilante, and I'd be without a job. I think he thinks similarly- a surprising amount of his money funnels into city projects, even accounting for the bribes he pays to get it where it needs to go. An interesting number of medical bills have been paid for when some poor idiot gets in the way. Even his manic killing sprees- they seem random, but I don't think they are. Something niggled at me when I read the files over, but the point was just beyond reach. He's interesting all over. I spent last night in the archives, reading back every record I can find of him. For every pile of ruin he creates, he seems to fix something. The choices seemed schizophrenic, but that in itself isn't surprising. Wayne's project involvement reads similarly if you're sufficiently interested. I wonder what he'd think if I told him? Not a lot, I suspect. Wayne doesn't like me very much. Says I can be bought. Easy for him to say. He's never not had a ready roll of banknotes. I have a knack for getting people to do what they don't want to. And The Joker called me. Which means I have leverage.

I take another deep breath, and rejoin the Guard waiting for me in the hallway. The hallway to his cell has a row of empty cells- they think he's dangerous, and of course he is. Just not as much if you ask him with the right amount of respect. His code of honor is right out of the 30's, and he's just as old, if not older. I don't think he knows how old he is. I know he was married once. Who knows how long ago that was, but he has a ring line. Not that any woman has ever come forward, but it could have been before he became who he is now. Not that anyone else has noticed- he often wears gloves. But I noticed it when we first met- and we finally reach his door.

I go to knock, and the guard says he can just let me in.

No- I knock again.

 _Come in-_ he has a surprising voice. Singsong when he's making fun, gravelly when he's not. Today it's deeper than usual- if I didn't know better, I'd say he's hung over. He's sitting in a chair by the window, the picture of comfortable elegance if he weren't chained down and jacketed. I walk over until he's right in front of me, and bow like a pantomime character- "Oh Supreme Master of the Universe, Oh Playful One, the devil called and so I have come. What is it I can do for you?" He laughs. He likes a little humor, even if, being honest, it's not my strong suit.

 _I'd hand you into your chair, minion, but unfortunately I'm all tied up. I had tea brought, but I'm not sufficiently trusted to drink any. I suspect they think I intend to harm you._  
_Please, sit, and have some tea._

I do as he asks, and pour two cups. And then- "do you want some?" He laughs, pleased. Good. I lean forward, tipping the cup so he can drink.  _Your hands are shaking, Miss Waller._ _Scared?_ And he grins a playful grin at me. "No. If you wanted me dead, I wouldn't have made it out my apartment door this morning. But I'm not a fool, either. I can assure you it isn't the panty dropping effect you have on all the others."

He laughs again, then sobers. _Of course, Miss Waller. I knew that when you walked into my bar the day after your appointment and asked to see me. This 4ft 11 woman in a nice suit. Your predecessor never felt the need, though your gift could have been better thought out._ He grins again, and it's not malevolent.   _Now, if I might ask you one more favor- have you any aspirin in your purse?_ I'm surprised, but I dig around in my bag, and pull out two. I pick up the teacup, and put them in his mouth. For a moment, it occurs to me that he once bit off an orderlies finger doing this very same task. But he swallows, and the moment passes.

_Thankyou. I'm afraid I drank a little too much last night. But a curveball will do that to you. Now, Miss Waller, do you have the information I asked for?_

"Yes. Dr Harleen Quinz-"

 _I'll read it later._ I put the file down. We sit in silence for a moment. I offer some more tea. He takes it. He's particularly sane at the moment, but he has these periods of relative peace. What I want to know is how I can take advantage of it.  
I can't help but break it. "What else can I do for you, Sir? I assume that isn't all."

_No, Miss Waller, it isn't. I want outpatient treatment. I will return dutifully each day for mandated therapy, and I will allow a... usefully closer view. And I want to choose my therapist. The only thing that remains is to determine the terms of the deal. So, Miss Waller, what do you want?_

"Well, Sir, no offence intended, but I don't care if you tell them you're the green fairy. You ran the underside of Gotham when I was just a bad screw in the back of my dad's truck. I'm quite sure you'll be here long after I'm gone." He starts to laugh, and it's almost charming.

_Ah. Quite observant, aren't you. What gave me away?_

I want to grin at him- it's infectious. "The shelf companies you use to pump your money- several of them date back to the 1930's. They're all managed by the same firm. But really, it's because we met long before I came to offer my respects.When I was just a little girl, my mother ran away from my father. In practice, that meant she took his truck keys when he finally passed out from the booze and carried me out to the car. That night, you and your men ran an operation in the Narrows. My father was killed in the scrum. I don't know why. I suspect he owed you. He was never the most prudent man. My mother was beaten down from well, you can imagine. We came home one day and you were sitting in the living room of the shitbox we called home. My mother was terrified, but you smiled politely and gave me a toy, and told her to send me away.  You left enough money for a year. You'd paid the rent. My mother still owns the shop she bought with the money. I'm 45 years old and I remember that day clearly. You look younger now than you did then _."_

He pauses for a moment, and looks closely at me, as if trying to recall.

 _Ah. I have many faults, but I prefer not to hurt children. You don't get to choose your beginnings. I didn't choose mine. I remember your mother- quite a pretty woman._ And the smile he gives me is frightening. There's a thousand years in it.  _I can triple your usual fee- if only for the detective work._

"No Sir. I'd rather something else. My niece's Uni fees are paid, I don't want money. One day I might need help. Backing. Something. I want your word that when I ask, you'll help."

He raises his eyebrows at me, amused. _I'm not in the habit of giving out blank cheques, Miss Waller. If I did, I'd be dead by now. But I suspect this one might do well by me. Anything else?_

"Shackle your dogs for a while. Don't go crazy. And I smile at him, hoping to lighten the mood. It'll take me a week. The capital required to do this will need some leaning. Can you wait that long?"

He nods. And then laughs. _Miss Waller, I am crazy. You're sitting in the madhouse_.

"Not hardly, Sir. Do you want some more tea before I leave?" He nods. I help him sip, then gather my things.

I go to walk, and then- "Sir- what therapist do you want?"

He smiles, and it's sad. _I would think that would be obvious, Miss Waller. I nod, then pause again._

"Sir- you should know. I gathered everything I could. But your Miss Quinzel is... an interesting case. I had to lean to get what I did. Her records were red sealed, and even then, half of it's blacked out. I can see what else I can get to, but that means that whatever happened happened when she was a minor. And... her back. Someone did that to her."

He looks sharply at me- _**did what?**_

"The tattoo sir. I understand it couldn't be lazered away. But they did other things to her too. That young woman should be commended for making it this far. So... if I were to speak as a friend-don't hurt her. You likely can't hurt her as much as someone else already did."

He grins again, lazy. _I suspect, Amanda, that she's going to hurt me. And, speaking as friends, and perhaps I can offer some peace-your father was diluting some of what I distributed at the time with a toxin. It was killing people, and I'm a man of business first. I can't sell if all my customers are dead. But I would've left him alone, until he began to owe. He came to see me, and he tried to sell you to me. Told me I was a sick fuck and that you were a pretty little girl. Told me you had a sweet little pussy- he'd tasted it. I mentioned before- I don't like men who hurt children. So I thought about it, and made a decision. Only you know if it was the right one. I hope so. I hope that perhaps a bad man sometimes does good things.  Shorten the time in purgatory a little eh?_

He's a master manipulator, but he isn't lying. I know that by the clear way he looks at me. But he's also punishing me for saying anything about Dr Quinzel.  I have to get out of here. "Thankyou for your time, Sir."

  
I count to 20 and make it all the way to the end of the hall before I vomit.


	8. Recoil, or The Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please read the authors note- this chapter has heavy warnings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note:  
> This chapter is extremely adult themed.  
> We deal with abuse, drug abuse, rape, amongst other issues.
> 
> If this is a trigger for you, you may wish to stop here- this is a twisted fairytale, a place where love is only as good as the lover- violent people love violently, sweet people love sweetly etcetera, as Toni Morrison wrote.
> 
> Hold onto your hats! You are free to ask me questions, if you wish- I will answer.
> 
> The music for this chapter is The Kiss, by Philip Glass, from The Hours soundtrack from the second half, and You Can Be The Boss by Lana Del Rey for the first.

* * *

 

 

“It is only after knowing him for some time that you begin to realize you are, to him, an essentially fictional character, one he has invested with nearly limitless capacities for tragedy and comedy not because that is your true nature but because he, Richard, needs to live in a world peopled by extreme and commanding figures.”  
― [Michael Cunningham](https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1432.Michael_Cunningham), [The Hours](https://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/2245431)

* * *

It takes 3 minutes for me to empty my stomach on the floor hallway, the bright tile a sickly yellow. Talk about a suckerpunch. It takes another 5, back against the wall, for the nausea to pass. I haven't thought about my father for 10 years. I try my best not to feel generally. Still, I shouldn't be surprised. Come on, Amanda. The pep talk isn't working.

"Told me you had a sweet little pussy-" The thought makes my stomach heave, and I spew another round of bile straight onto someone's shoes. A gentle hand wipes my face with a handkerchief, and I look up into a warm, and smiling face. She has crinkles at the corners of her eyes, and rather than ask me anything, she sits down next to me on the tile. She rummages in her bag and produces some water and breath mints, and offers both up, saying nothing. After I take a drink, she wipes my face down, upending some water on her cloth. Then she sloshes some water over it to encourage the vomit towards the hall drain.

Then she takes my hand. We sit like that, for 10 minutes, in the quiet. Finally, she breaks it-  _Well, I guess now isn't the right time to go chat with the joker, huh? I had an onion bagel for breakfast, and I can't say I'd want to clean that up. Are you going to be alright?_ When I don't respond, she says, _I'm Anna Leeland. Second in command to the most fucked up place around._ _Why don't you come to my office with me, and we'll have some tea and biscuits?_ And she pulls me up and holds my hand all the way. Her office is small, but warm and heated, and it's welcoming. There's a kettle in the corner. Anna installs me in a comfortable chair on the other side of the desk, and pours out some tea, and rummages around in her desk. _Good thing I brought the good ones today, huh?_ And she hands over two good chocolate biscuits, and even though her office is in the middle of an asylum, it gives the impression of being a place you'd want to stay. She digs around in her desk again, and pulls out an ashtray and a pack of marlboros. _I always meant to quit,_ she jokes, _but all the inmates smoke. Never got around to it. Do you want one?_

She pulls her chair around, and puts the ashtray between us, so close our knees could touch. She doesn't seem to mind. I don't smoke, but I take one anyway. And we sit in the warm room for a few minutes. I have some tea.

 _" **I'm sorry."**_ It just tumbles out. She looks at me steadily for a moment, and then says, _don't worry about it. You haven't lived till you've had a raging psychotic rip his IV out of his arm and fling HIV infected blood at you. Besides, I think Mr J has the highest vomit inducement rate of anyone in the asylum_. She takes my hand again, and sighs. _He's not above looking in and finding the right place to push._ _He's very good at it. Try not to take it to heart, even if you think it's true. It's more likely there's a grain of truth in something presented differently._ _What were you here for, anyway?_

I know it's true, but I answer her anyway. _I'm his liason. Security and Outreach. It's not my usual work, but Mr Way- I mean, they want him handled. That involves negotiating._ _I'm afraid I won the battle, but lost the war._ She takes a long drag and says, _well, I guess I don't have to do it. What does he want?_

"You're not going to like it. Outpatient. Dr Quinzel." Best to be honest, and anyway, she's the kind of person you don't want to fool.

 _You're right. I don't. I don't believe he knows her personally- toyed with her a bit on her first day, but there was no recognition there. I wonder why?_ _So, er-_

"Amanda."

_Amanda. Pretty name. If I put up blockers, how long have I got?_

"Probably a week, max."

 _Fuck_. And the profanity is such a surprise out of such a sweet woman, it startles a giggle out of me. _He won't make it easy, either. He never does._ _What does he know about her? She's very, very good for someone so young, but she's not been doing it long enough to detach. He knows how to get under your skin._

"I know", I say, dry. "Mine ended up all over the hallway floor."

 _Oh, I could like you, Amanda._ And I'm surprised to realize I like her too. She's still holding my hand.

"Anna- would you like to go out for a drink later?" She flushes, and I realize I've overstepped. "Oh, I'm"-

_Yes. Yes I would._

And she gives me such a sweet smile I'm shocked that she works with the most dangerous criminals in Gotham. And that she's not dead. And I want to know how The Joker pushed her. But I want to kiss her more than that. It'll keep.

* * *

I'm lying under my covers, brain to sore to even legitimately move. Something that smells like off wheatgrass and compost has been irking it's way into my nostrils for the last hour, but my head hurts too much to want to do anything about it. The sun is assaulting my face at last, and I know I'll have to groan myself upright. I wiggle experimentally, and then draw the covers back to see Pam Isley sitting next to my bed, drinking something that smells like dead weeds.

_Morning sunshine. Overdid it a wee bit last night, did we?_

"Oh shit. Pam, I'm meant to be at work." _As of 3 hours ago. I called in sick for you. Drink this. And she hands me something smelly, and shoves the straw between my lips._ My headache eases, and my stomach stops roiling. I can breathe out. I look at Pam. She's grinning at me like the cat that got the canary.

"It's not going to kill me, is it?" She laughs and swats at me, and says, no- _you'll just be immune to sexual charm for a while._

"Pam!"

_I'm kidding. It's just a natural hangover cure, Harley._

"Please- Harleen. Not Harley." She looks at me curiously and nods. _Although I think the problem has less to do with alcohol and more with that._ She nods at my inner arm, which is shiny with needle marks.

"It's just a bit of fun Pam. I can control myself. Besides, you wouldn't have known otherwise. So zip it." She frowns at me, but extends a vine and smears something smelly on it. _I'm only doing it because it was worth it to see you smack the shit out of Mr Funny last night. I haven't seen anything like that in years. Not that he was impressed. I've got it from a reliable source that you were almost in very big trouble._

"He hit me first", I grumble.

 _Christ you've got balls on you, girl. You pulled a piece on him._ But she's grinning as she says it.

"It wasn't loaded, for christsake. Besides, his bar is in the Narrows. Did he expect me to rock up in a tiny dress sans protection?"

 _If you call that a dress. I'd call it his shirt._ I can't help but laugh, the look on her face is priceless.

"I'm going to shower." I stumble upright, and my phone rings. I let it roll to answerphone. _"Harleen, it's Anna. You'd better have your ass in here at 9am sharp tomorrow. You can explain to me why The Joker has demanded you as his new Psych. He's never talked to any of us. And I can't say two seconds of upskirt action has ever prompted this before. Yeah. I saw. Stop Blushing. 9am Harleen."_

**Fuck.**

* * *

After my day of therapeutic staring out the window at the real crazies, having dutifully swallowed my pills and behaved myself, it feels good to be back in the bar. It's early yet, and Johnny brings me a drink. Harleen's file has been sitting in front of me for 30 minutes. I slug some of my drink back and flip it open. Ms Waller was right. The majority is blacked out, but phrases stand out.

15 year old female

malnutrition, heavy musculature despite it.

Stimulants in system-

semi regular usage.-

clear signs of abuse and all over bruising-

part healed anal and vaginal tearing-

raw throat and swollen glands-

semen swabs taken, nothing found-

more than one personality- Harley and Harleen and whore-

3 years of therapy-

Dr - found her to be -adjusted-circumstances-

prefers harleen not harley-

I flip the pages looking for more, but it's all blacked out. At the back of the folder are photographs. She's been splayed out like a fucking mannequin. Typical fucking **sadist** Doctors. rows of scars in inner thighs like a ladder going up, some wounds half healed. Bruised all fucking over, ribs sticking out like a mangy dog. Another, limbs spread out, lips parted. It'd be hot if she weren't so obviously fucked up. Arms covered in tracks, some obviously infected.  **And then one of her back.** Where the scar tissue is now, there was.. fuck. fuck. fuck fuck. A raw, half healed and infected tattoo. It's enormous. And hot rage fills me up like liquid magma. She had a giant fucking W on her back, one part of the line stretching all the way down to her... fuck. And my hands are tied.

**I tied them myself.**

And I'm so angry I could shoot the nearest warm body. I have to get out of here. The bar is closing in on me as if the walls were moving. I shove it all back in and yell for Johnny to give me the car keys. He hurries over with them and spots the last photo in my hands and his mouth falls open in shock. And Johnny has seen a lot of fucked up shit. "Boss. This is not a good idea." _Give me THE FUCKING KEYS. Or I swear to god Johnny I'll beat them out of you._ He says we can go, but he's coming with me. He whistles to the bargirl and says he's leaving, then walks me out the back.

Where to, Boss?

 _The Cats._ He says nothing, just shoves me in the passenger side and gets in, starting the car, engine roaring.

* * *

I'm sitting in my study, trying to balance my accounts, when Genie comes to get me. It's a strange hour to have a guest, and we aren't even open for business yet, strictly speaking. Genie's only here because she dropped her kid off at her mothers, and she can't go home after that. Genie comes and knocks on my door. "Come in hon. Who is it?"

 _I don't know. I've never seen him before. He's different though. well more so than usual. Green hair. He's got a big man with him, seems nice._ Oh shit. This is really the last thing I want.

"Genie. Go get some tea please, I'll show them in."

 **You sure Boss?** She looks at me worried. God she's so *new*. I raise and eyebrow at her and she scuttles out to get the tea. I take a moment and fix my lipstick, and straighten my dress- a plain sheath that a banker would wear. I twist my hair straight, and I figure it'll have to do. I tap out to the reception hall, where Johnny Frost is smiling warmly at me. He scratches his head. A signal so old I almost miss it. "Johnny. How lovely to see you. Long time no see." He hugs me close and leans in, whispering " **No**."

I lean back out, and behind him is J. He's sitting on the hall sofa, rolling his sleeves up.

_"Don't think I can't hear you both. I'm crazy, not fucking stupid."_

"J. Charming as always, I see. Why don't you both come through to my office." I don't give him a choice, just pad down the hall, sliding in behind my desk. I can only think of one tack that might work.

"So, J- I was actually just working on the monthly figures. I was thinking we may need to move-"

 _I'm not here to talk about work, Kitty._ Genie brings in the tea, and I wait for her to put down the tray, and then, "Genie, leave now". And the moment I say it I realize it's a tactical error.

_Actually, Genie, pour the tea would you?._

Fuck. "Well, J, if that's the kind of mood you're in, it's been a while but-"

**_Oh I think she'll do._ **

"No, she won't. Genie, go finish the kitchen please. It's not her realm of expertise, J. No-one else is here yet, we don't open for 3 hours." But I've lost and I know it. As Genie passes him, he reaches a lazy hand out and spins her into his lap. The idiot girl **giggles**.

"J- *she's not the right girl. She's never done what you're asking. Hanna will be here in 30 minutes-"

 **I said, she'll DO.** And the echo as he slams his hand onto the table flat is clear.

"Alright. Come, Genie I need to speak to you for a moment." I pull her off his lap and towards the door. I make sure to turn my back to him. "Genie, you'll need the brown room. Drink 4 drops out of the blue bottle on the shelf next to the door."

_I can handle-_

"No you can't G. Do as I say. Now. Make the drops generous. Pick a song you like and turn it up. **Go**."

_I need the money, she whispers. Mom's real sick._

"Remember what I told you. Don't cry out for too long. It only makes it worse." I turn away from her, closing the door behind me. "She'll be ready in 5 minutes", and my tone is curt. He just laughs at me and the sound is jagged as cut glass. The minute he slams my door I drop my pen and go to find Johnny. He's standing outside, and wraps me into a hug.

 _Sorry Kitty_ , he says, face sad. _If I didn't bring him he was going to raze a city block. And we can't have that happen right now_. _Let's go outside and have a smoke- and I'll explain._ There are plush couches next to the door, but we both sit on the stone in the fading light. _Just like old times,_ he sighs, as a loud, thumping beat pumps out through the windows. He fumbles in a pocket and digs out a crumpled pack of cigarettes.

"I quit, you know", I say stupidly as he lights one for me and passes it over. I try to let the warmth in Johnny's voice fill my ears, as seconds later, she begins to scream. I'm counting the seconds, waiting for the painkiller I told her to take to kick. It doesn't, and despite myself I feel nauseous. She didn't listen. Johnny keeps talking, all in that calm, soothing tone, but he scoots closer to me on the step and puts an arm around my shoulders. And **all** I could think was of the night we met, when the man upstairs, saved me from the Bat. _Oh_ he had chuckled. _Kitty lost it's claws?_ But he'd pulled me from the fence anyway. In this light, my hands almost look translucently undamaged. In a few hours I will pull on my gloves, and try to ignore the itch to remove them.

And all I can think is that **years** , lifetimes later, I'm still a thief. It takes 15 minutes for the sounds to stop. Another 10 for silence. Johnny has finished up, and lapses into silence. We smoke for a little longer, and I go to stand- Johnny pulls me back down onto the stone.

 **Thief. Thief. Thief. Filthy little thief. Sticky fingers. Thief. Sneak.** Only now it's not pearls from bedside tables. It's a life. Something soft streams out the windows, and it sounds like rain. Something he used to play here, late at night when finally, the sleeping. And it's an apology, of sorts. Then he's stepping between us and walking away, a tall and lonely figure in the dying light. It takes all the years of containing myself to call to him. J... and it's a question, hanging heavily in the air between us. He walks until he reaches the fountain, and splashes water down his face. Then he turns, and he's so **soaked** with blood it's spread through his waistcoat and onto his white arms. And before I've even decided, I'm up and I've landed a hard smack across his face, hard enough to make his lip bleed. I go in for round two, and instead of stopping me, he takes the hits, one after the other until I miss.

I never really got my agility back, after he ripped my hands off that fence. Then he drops to his knees and his arms are around my legs, face pressed against my belly, sobbing like a tiny child with a broken toy. Once, I would have pulled him to me. But now, I remain, stiff, until he pushes closer and my hands are on his head, and it's automatic. Finally, he's silent. But we remain there, a tableaux of lost and broken things, and here in the relegated wasteland of the narrows, I can only just hear the cars on the highway.

Finally, he backs up, and his face is shuttered, control regained. _She wouldn't quieten down, Kitty_ , and it's so small I almost don't hear him. _Kitty, please. It's dark on the other side, and true madness is waiting._ I turn around, and go to walk away. _Please Kitty. **Please.**_ And he grabs my damaged hands and in the dusk the scars shine whitely.

* * *

 

Her hands are just as soft as I remember, and even now, despite everything, I am reminded how much I... cared for her once. She bends down to me, and in the twilight, she could be just as beautiful as she was then. But she couldn't forgive me for taking her hands, her skill, away. There is always an end point, a tally of what things should cost. And that cost was peace with her. **Silence**. And she looks closely at me, and I know that this is what it really costs to see.

 _I know. I know J. All it takes is one, one bad day._ But then she pulls her hands away, and looks at me, making sure I'm really listening. _But it doesn't mean you get forgiveness too._ And I don't know if she's talking about herself, or the girl upstairs. She leans closer still, and whispers in my ear.  _Life only has so many chances. Make sure that whatever you're doing, you aren't taking away the ones she has left. You fuck up everything you touch._

And then she **kisses** me, full on the mouth, softly and sweetly and with **regret**. I **wish** she'd hit me more instead. I could've taken that.

And the moment is gone, and she's walking away. She touches Johnny on the shoulder as she passes. And she goes inside, closing the door behind her, locking us outside in the gathering darkness.

* * *

 


	9. Tender Is The Night

* * *

 

“Make no mistake: everything has a variant. Like versions of truth, like versions of love, there are versions of sleep. The deepest sleep is meant only for children and perfect fools. Everyone else must pay each night her restless due.”

― Jill Alexander Essbaum, Hausfrau

 

* * *

 

I can't sleep. I feel like I'll never sleep again. The adrenaline of the day is still rushing through like molten metal pumping through my system. I'd think that the drugs are still in my system, but Ivy told me the goop she'd smeared on me would clear it out, so that isn't it. I'm not a good sleeper anyway. It's like flies buzzing, or the low level drone of mosquitoes in the summer time. Two showers and a round at the gym hasn't solved the problem, and it's 10pm and I can't help but pace. On an impulse I've dip dyed my hair the red of nailpolish, or.. an apple. Probably not the wisest idea, but I can tuck it into a twist at work. Even my leg muscles hurt from the tension. The truth is, I can't stop thinking about him. Whenever I close my eyes, I can see the pale whiteness of him, and the ink that seemed to slither.

 Right. I feel... like the strings of truths that hold me together are pulling. And I haven't felt this way since-

**No.**

 I stretch up to the bar in my hallway and pull myself over it, swinging to hang off it and tucking it under my knees. The blood rushes to my head, and I close my eyes for a second- and there's the whiteness again. That's it. I'm going out. There's a dive club around the corner- like hell I'm going back to *his* place. I've distracted myself from obsessions before, I can do it again. Better find something to wear. I flip through the options. It's all so * **boring** *. His shirt is hanging on the end of the rack, fresh in dry clean plastic. After one more run through, I yank the plastic off. It looks better on me anyway. Screw it. I'm not going to stand here questioning. Time to get the hell out of here. A pair of boots and lipstick later and I'm out. I stop in the hallway and twist the red out of sight before I leave.

The bar is relatively busy- I'm surprised. I'm not here to cause any mayhem tonight though. I just sit at the end of the bar and order a scotch- when nothing else works, a few glasses of something strong will put you out. I'm drinking a bit more heavily than I should be, and I'm surprised at how hard it hits. I'm beginning to get that itchy feeling that is usually followed by the desire to pick someone up, but no-one's come close, and the alcohol is making me sluggish. So instead I stay in my chair and order another. This bar is fucking weird, really. A man all in green is sitting in the corner, and everyone seems to talk, and no-one seems to leave. They're even playing something old timey, from a jukebox of all things. I don't even recognize the tune, and I stumble over to find something else. The only thing I recognize is 10 years old, but it's better than the rest and suits my mood. I flip it to loop, the place is a dump, anyway. As I weave my way back to my chair, softness leaks out of the machine, and it's melancholy and perfect.

 

**Oh I do believe**

**In all the things you see**

**What comes is better**

**Than what came before**

**And you better come come**

**come come to me**

**Better come come come come come to me**

**Better run run run run run to me**

**Better come**

 

It's a bit of a struggle, but I get myself back on my stool, and take a sip. That's better. Maybe, soon, I can go home and sleep.

 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Tonight, the bar is quiet, and it's a good thing too. All I can think is that's enough for a day. Perhaps I can sit here tonight and think of nothing.  It would be a small amount of grace. Small enough at that. But I can still taste the girl's blood in the back of my throat, and it tastes like metal and grief. Once, it would have been **guilt**. The thought makes me chuckle. See enough, you see, and you begin to weigh up lives in order of importance. I hope you never live so long as that. Still, I can't help but wonder why hers seems to be worth so much. Should've been a doll to play with, and nothing else. Like that girl- and I don't even remember her name.

Is it because she belonged to the Bat? Maybe. But I don't think so. I was interested before then. She looked me in the eyes, and there was something there. Even when I smiled at her, she didn't look away. I'm used to having the opposite effect. 

Johnny's striding towards me- **fuck** what now? He leans down to whisper to me, and hands me my phone, ready to dial.

 

* * *

 

 

I signal the bartender, who's on the phone dammit. I just want another drink. Even the phone is an old long corded one, not even a mobile. He brings the whisky bottle over, and pours me a double, and says, "call for you." and hands it over.

I stare at it stupidly, and then "Hello?"

 _Go home, Harley._ His voice sounds like gravel, and it tumbles out of the earpiece, something real. "It's Harleen. And I'm not going anywhere. I'm going to have another drink. I'll see you tomorrow, Joker." And I slam the phone back down on it's stand, and signal the barkeep. He comes over with water. That fucking interfering-And the phone rings again. "Harleen's Bar. What can I do for you?", I say, sarcastic. Laughter fills my ears, and I'm surprised that I find it a pleasant sound.

  _Go home. Eddie won't serve you anymore. Go home and sleep like a good girl._ The mention of sleeping does nothing but piss me off. "Water's fine." And I dump the receiver back on the stand. I haven't finished my double, anyway.

 

* * *

 

 

The little upstart hangs up one me. *again*. For fucks sake.

I pick up the phone again and almost dial, then change the number.

 

I hear the sound of wind and water, and then "Yes?" comes an uncertain voice.

 

_Pam, it's me._

I love the silly bitch but she never really mastered phones.

 

"What is it, J? Kitty called me."

 

_It's not about that. And anyway, you answered the phone twice in one day. It must be a miracle._

The problem with all your friends knowing each other, is that all your friends know each other.

 

"Dr Leeland says I have to get used to it."

 

_Pam, hon, you know, it shows my number on the screen when I call. It also says my name._

 

"Oh. I always forget to look. Anyway, if it isn't Kitty, what is it?"

 

When I'm done explaining, she starts laughing. And then doesn't stop.

 

**_Pam-_ **

 

"Did you ask her, or did you tell her?"

 

_I told her. She's in the fucking crawl for godsake. If she wants to get pissed she can do it somewhere I don't have to worry about the fucking Penguin._

 

"Hon, she was fine till you drew attention to it. If you want her to do something, ask her." And then, more sober. "I looked at the file. I suspect she's had enough of being told to last a lifetime."

 

I wait for more. It's not coming.

 

"Well. What are you doing on the line with me still. Go and ask her nicely."

 

 _I swear to God Pam_ \- but the dial tone sounds in my ear. She's hung up. I wish someone would teach her that hello and goodbye work. Honestly.

Well.

 

And I grab my jacket and keys and make my way out, signaling to Johnny as I go.

 

* * *

 

 

Ha. That showed him. Shame about the drinks though. So I sip slow, and get some of the water in too. I have to make it out of here. Not yet, though. There's a few more minutes of comforting loop, and then the whispering starts. It's all unintelligible, but people are standing up and leaving. I lean over the bar and signal the barman- _Hey- are you closing_? He just shakes his head. Whether it means no, or it's at me, I don't know. I guess time's up. I fumble around in my purse, my damned keys are here somewhere. Oh. that's where my schedule paper went. Oh, and my lipstick. ok. I look back up to put some dollars on the bar, and the chair opposite me is occupied. I'd be afraid, but there's something very... relaxed? Unraveled? something about him.

 

He rolls his shoulders, and slips his jacket off, then signals to the barkeep. And hands over something that looks suspiciously like several hundreds, when "Thanks Eddie" delivers a drink. Eddie then disappears out back, and he sips his drink, then turns back to me.

"So, my little Harlequin. Not exactly low maintenance, are you?" And he chuckles a low rich chuckle, and it's very endearing out of a killing psycho.

Obviously, I'm drunker than I thought. So clearly since it's gone so well already, I take his drink and sip some. Shit. That's not what I was drinking and I almost choke on it. He takes it back and sips and laughs again.

 

_I never asked you to come._

 He grins at me. "By sitting in the middle of the Crawl and getting very, very drunk? No, that just really rings my bells as excellent decisionmaking."

  _What's wrong with this place? It's pretty dingy but I was planning on not running into you. But you just keep on coming._ And I take his drink back and sip again, this time ready for the burning.

 "What's wrong with it? Well, next time, just pick the second most dangerous bar in Gotham- you know, the one where the only slightly less dangerous bounty hunters hang out. This is where all the really bad bad guys pick up work." And he leans over the bar and picks up a stack of gold cards- and they all have names on the back.

 _Well I did last time. But you park yourself there, Mr Overlord. I was running short on options_. He laughs again, and strides over to the jukebox. Presses a button on the damn thing and a cd rack is revealed. Still 10 years out of tech date, but better. A moment later and something soft and on the piano flows out. I recognize it, but not well enough to name. It's a good choice for this time of night. Which makes me want to frown.

 

"Gnosstienes 4&5", he says as he sits back down. "So, Harlequin-"

  _Why do you keep calling me that?_ He doesn't say anything, just reaches around the back of my head, and pulls the pin holding my hair up out, and his hand brushes the back of my neck on the way back, and it's warm. "Because you look like one." and he strokes a red ended curl softly, then tugs it and laughs. "And because people rarely, if ever, surprise me." 

I slug a bit more of his drink, and he grins at me, and I can't help but smile back, and then I'm giggling, surprised.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

She has a laugh like bell chimes. It's surprising. That and the red curls. I'm fairly certain they weren't there before.

 

 _So, what's it going to take to get you to go home and go to bed? Once you do I can get back to my plans for general malfeasance._ She giggles again, and I want her to keep laughing.

The thought surprises me.

 

"Well, I don't have to go anywhere for now. The biggest bad daddy in Gotham is watching over me. I could sit here for days"- and she rolls her eyes at me. Naughty little thing.

 

 _Alright. How about a little game of quid pro quo. I'll show you mine if you show_ _me_ _yours_. And she's laughing again- I could get used to a sound like that. But she's mistaken my meaning- she's rolling up a sleeve and turning her arm over. There's a huge white gash- "Disagreement with my roommate during my esteemed tenure at the Arkham School for Delinquents" And I'm curious to see if it feels like mine, so before she can roll it back down, I settle a hand on it and run my thumb over it. Hmm. Rougher.

 

I roll aside my collar, exposing the one I got crashing Batsy's car.  _I got this one in my first proper fight with the Bat. Crashed his car. You can imagine how that thrilled him. Dick extender-_ and she's laughing so hard she slops my drink all over her legs. And we keep trading injuries, as if it's normal. To the point she extends a graceful leg and tells me the ones on her thighs she gave herself. One for every hurt, because it kept her alive.

 

And-

This is my first. And I show her the white roping that extends over my left shoulder and collarbone. It's the only clearly visible one. She reaches a hand out and runs her fingers over it.

 _It's how I got my name. I don't remember everything- but I was married once. I'd joined a gang crew, and we had planned to knock over Ace Chemicals. I don't even remember why._ _One of my colleagues- and I can't help but sneer- decided he wanted my share. He slowly took most of us out over the course of the heist. When it came my turn, I'd realized something was wrong. But he panicked- Batsy had turned up- and in the course of the scuffle, he knocked me into a little vat of acid._ _Batsy walked over after he was done with my... people. He saw me, and walked away. I cut my shoulder getting myself out. The acid settled in under my skin._ _I crawled home, and found my wife was dead. You know, I don't remember her name? I remember the rage though. Some thug had decided to rob us, and I was gone._

 _One shot to the head, one to the belly. We were going to have a baby._ _I took the machine gun that I'd been supposed to take with me to Ace, and I shot up the bar owned by the man who had hired me. He choked to death on his own blood and by the time the policegot there, I couldn't stop laughing. I'd lost everything, and it didn't even feel good. **Hence the name.**_ _I've never done anything unplanned since. I own that bar now, and he died where my booth is._

She looks at me, and it's a mixture of horror and pity. Not so fast little girl. I'm not done. I slug back a bit more of my drink, and offer her some more. She downs it like water.

 

_Now you're going to tell me what happened to your back._

 

* * *

 

 

"Now you're going to tell me what happened to your back."

 And it's like being hit. But I smile anyway, and say- _Oh- the scar- I got high and took an iron to it. I didn't want to look at it anymore. You know, burning flesh smells like cooked meat-_ _and you react to the smell and even feel hungry? I couldn't reach the top half on my own._ And the look on his face makes me want to laugh.

 

“I meant the tattoo”, he says, quiet.

 

 _Oh. That's not fun to talk about. But I will tell you two things about it. One- I know what that rage is. I choked on my own blood getting it. Two: Someone stole something from you._ _The ink is chemically similar to Joker Venom. It's why I couldn't have it removed. It's also partly an acidic poison, like the chems that made you what you are._ _So, you see- I knew you before we met. I can't sleep because whatever the fuck it is itches, and hurts._ _I haven't slept through the night since I was a child._ I slug back some more of his drink. I'd rather not look at him.  _So whatever it is that twisted you, twisted me too. The only difference is that eventually it's going to kill me._

And this time, his laughter is like cut glass.

 

Acid rises in the back of my throat, and I start to choke-

 

* * *

 

 

She's going to be sick. I grab the nearest wine bottle ice bucket off the bar, and lean her over it. She spews up acid and alcohol, and under my hands the back of her neck burns as if she's fevered. She keeps heaving long after I think anything should be left, and her face is running with snot and tears. I wipe it off with my sleeve and then get my jacket around her shoulders and scoop her up.  _Eddie_ , I call out. _We're leaving. Lock up, would you?_ She's light as a child, and I can feel the bones and  muscle under my hands as if she was reticulated.  _Hands round my neck, Harlequin. That's it._ And I carry her out. The strains of "Do I wanna know" follow us out, like taunting.

 

**Ah, there's some aces up your sleeve**

**Have you no idea that you're in deep**

**I dreamt about you nearly every night this week**

**How many secrets can you keep?**

 

She lives so close we're at her door before I know it. This old shitbox tract housing has been here forever, and if you hard twist the doorknob left, you can get into any house on the strip sans key. I do, and "nifty trick" she giggles. Just like I remember, the kitchens on the left, and one handed, I get a clean cloth wet, and then get her into the bedroom. She stays passive, like a small child done for the day, as I yank off her boots, and wipe down her face. She doesn't even protest when I pull the shirt over her head- she's splattered it with vomit. Underneath the bravado is a little girl in a singlet and black panties and purple socks with stars on them, and for a moment I'm shocked by it.

I lift her back up again and settle myself against the headboard, and press the remote on the bedside, and something soft and sad streams out. I flip the lights out, and the ceiling lights up- do you remember those glow in the dark stars we all had as kids?She's covered the ceiling in moons and stars of varying sizes, and they glow faintly in the darkness.

And it's then that I know how much she's still **hoping**. 

She settles, half sprawled over me, undoing the bottom buttons of my shirt until her face is warm on my belly.

  _You're going to sleep now. It's alright. I'll keep watch. You'll be safe._

I pull the hair back off her neck, and tuck one hand over the top of the sprawling black message on her. I use the other to pull the blanket over us. She sighs, softly, and closes her eyes.“Thanks Mister J." It isn't till later that I notice the scabbing- she's either been scratching at it, or gone for it with nail scissors. It's later still when she starts to cry- she doesn't even wake up.

And I'm surprised again.

It's been a long time since I wanted to keep someone safe. Even longer since I've considered fulfilling such an impulse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With a special thanks to my lovely beta, whose unicorn dust clearly invaded my brain and changed my plans. 
> 
> AN: Music for this chapter is
> 
> I found a Reason by Cat Power
> 
> Do I Wanna Know by the Arctic Monkeys
> 
> Gnosstienes 4&5 by Erik Satie
> 
> and whatever soft music puts you to sleep for the last.


	10. In which a bunch of heathens see the stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long- it took a while to come, pun intended.  
> Many thanks to letmeloveyou, who made me rewrite my incomprehensible mess into something readable.  
> It probably still needs a shape up and I might re-post it after she's whacked me with a stick for inconsistencies, but darling, you know you love me. Don't be too mad.
> 
> This chapter has plenty of adult themes- don't say I didn't warn you!  
> Feel free to ask any questions- as my lovely reader says, you'd write these wonderful stories that no-one understands if I wasn't here, and she's right, so do say if I've missed something glaring.
> 
> As for this chapter's music:  
> Heathens  
> High By The Beach & Burning Desire, specifically the Alkalino Remix by Lana del Rey  
> Plastic Bag Theme from American Beauty
> 
> Now go suspend your disbelief and enjoy- she's a long one!
> 
> Oh and please forgive my butchering of Poker- I was never very good at it anyway, and it serves a purpose here.

* * *

 

**All my friends are heathens take it slow**

**Wait for them to ask you who you know**

**Please don't make any sudden moves**

**You don't know half of the abuse**

**we don't take outsiders well**

**and now they’re outside waiting to bust**

**It looks like you might be one of us.**

 

* * *

 

Amanda Waller is so happy she could die.

She tries to remember the last time she felt like this- and it's hard to know. But if she had to pin it to any time and it would probably be the summer she turned 18, in love with Matthew Dryden, and at that beach house. She had stood outside in love with Matthew, who was really in love with someone else, watching the waves crash and thought- this is it. This is the possibility of more happiness, opening up like flowers in the summertime. She had thought, then, that there would always be more possibility, another option. It wasn't true. The week after that Matt had dumped her for the boy in his pottery class, and her mother had said, I told you so. What I had failed to do, she thinks, is realize that it *was* happiness. There is nothing better than the feeling of many chances. 

I'm 45 now, and another chance found me vomiting in the hallway. Anna's flat is cosy, but chaotic and has none of the ordered, managed feel of my place, and she has flannel sheets, for godsake. But despite all that I have no desire at all to get up, I could stay right here forever. She's warm and uninhibited and kind. And great in bed. Please, I can't help but think- Please let her ask me to stay. I'm crossing my fingers under the sheets when Anna climbs back in with me, and says "We've a little longer. You should stay and have breakfast with me, and I was wondering if you're free for dinner?"

And it's an easy exhale and I say yes, and throw the morning out for just a little bit longer.

* * *

 

 

My answering machine wakes me like a jolt, Anna's voice piercing through the best sleep I've had in months, years even. The sound is shrill and for a moment I'm angry- then I shake it off, and jolt out of bed.

"Harleen- get in here. It's Pam. Right now". Jesus Christ. I'm already feeling fucked up, upside down and twisted as it is. My entire back is throbbing unpleasantly, and my muscles are soft, which is such a strange contrast to how I usually feel that it makes me roll my shoulders, crack my wrists. I can't help but stare around my apartment-looking for evidence? But I know it happened, and I shake it off. I do know that I want him in my bed again, and certainly not for sleeping.

 I shake off my thoughts and dress in record time, and slick on a bright, red lip. I wouldn't usually, but Anna's urgent tone tells me I'm 30 minutes from walking into a spectacular clusterfuck. A crisp white shirt, my own this time, and a white pencil skirt and a pair of heels complete my prep, and I race out the door, twisting the red in my hair out of sight- a car mirror check shows my collar isn't high enough- the edge of a dark line is showing, and I yank my collar up. It takes me 20 minutes at high speed to reach Arkham.

I skitter past the guards, flashing my ID and don't even bother heading to my office. I knock on Anna's door, and burst in.I should've waited. Police Commissioner Gordon, and a kid policeman I don't recognize are sitting on the other side of her desk. _Oh I'm sorry- I can come back later._

 "No, please, we're about done here", Commissioner Gordon stands and addresses me. He's a kindly looking man in his 50's, and known for treating prisoners with as much respect as could be managed. "Commissioner Gordon- this is Dr Quinzel. She had begun treating Ms Isley, but they were only one session in," Anna is saying.

"Did she give any indication she was upset, or planning something, or anything," he says.

 _No- no- I mean she was sad- she had a relationship fail- but nothing that indicated any suicidal tendencies"._ As I’m speaking, two things flash through my brain- one is that Anna is blushing, and the other is that Gordon is looking at me too closely, as if we've met before, but I don't recall him from anything but TV.

"Harleen- she didn't kill herself. She broke into the CASE Technologies Lab and killed 11 people. She has Judge Nero. She won't get off this time. They'll give her death." He says it gently, trying to be kind.

I want to vomit, and for a minute my head swims. I don't.. deal with change well.

 _Oh... oh. I'm sorry. I haven't had my coffee yet_ \- I say, stupidly. And I turn tail and run, heading for seg 2. I'm there before I've even thought, swiping my pass in the door. He's not even restrained- he's just sitting, staring out the window, looking over the gardens. He turns at my entrance, obviously slightly startled. He looks reduced, almost plain- if it weren't for the acid green hair and red lips and everything about him that isn't normal.  Something both angry and soft is spilling out of the speakers in the corner, and I have to raise my voice a little.

 

_Joker-_

 

“I know. I know”, he says. And his voice is sandpapery with grief, and something else I can't identify.

 

* * *

 I swear to myself, tearing down the highway in J's lambo at 120km an hour. Not that he'd approve, but he can smack the whipping boy later. For now he'll have to suck on it. Fucking Pam and her fucking impulse related bullshit. She could stay. She could stay here with me and be happy. I take the car around the corner to Arkham Island like it's on rails, and almost slide it into the concrete barrier. The car's breaks cut in just in time, and I keep up the speed all the way into Arkham's Gates. I swipe the card key I nicked out of the good doctors bag, and ignore the guard, pointing my glock in his face. I slide down the hall and stick the butt in the back of the first white coated person I see.

"Take me to seg 1." and I lead them quickly down the hallway until we reach an interconnected one, and then another.

Until we're at the plastic cage they've stuck her in. I kick the idiot out and jam his cardkey in the door, and race back down the hallway. I bang on the plastic. She doesn't even acknowledge me. She just looks at me passive, as if she's gone already. I smash it harder, and she just rolls to the side, tiny and reduced to nothingness on the cell bed. I fire a few shots into the door plastic, which doesn't even give. Goddammit Pam, you're not going to do this. We're going to leave.

She finally stands, nose to the cell door, and puts her palm to mine, miming a **no, Johnny** , through the clear cell wall.

 And up the walls her ivy grows and flares, white flowers spreading out like **poison** in the air.

* * *

 

  _So that's it? She's just done? Pam's just done?_

“I have no say,” J says quieted. “There's nothing I can do.”

 ** _Of course there's something you can do_.** And before I've even thought about it I'm on my knees, hand on his chin, forcing him to look at me. **_Of course there is._**

He looks at me, for a long moment, and it's like unzipping my skin, peeling it back over my ribcage. It takes every bit of focus I have to hold his gaze and not back away. I think he knows that too, and he grins and leans forward, tucking a hand round the back of my neck, cold cheek on mine. And it's threatening and like coming home all at once. Until he leans closer, and whispers in my ear.

 **“What are you even doing on this side of the door, Kitten. You belong on the other side. You're not even one of us.”** The censure feels like whiplash, and my first instinct is to get away, but of course his hand is on the back of my neck and it occurs to me he could break it if he wanted.

 

**“That was a question. “**

 

 _Because she's my friend. Because I think you're my friend._ and the words spill out like an oil spill. _Because I think I'm something like **you. Because you’re like coming home. Because I don’t want to be afraid anymore.** Because I want to touch you. _ He chuckles that slow chuckle in my ear, and kisses me gently on the forehead.

“My compassion for you is inconvenient, Harley.”

 _Harleen,_ I say, automatically. But he's flicked a rarely touched switch, and fury bubbles up from the inside.  _Damn you Joker. I don't want your compassion. I don't want it. Go fuck yourself._ And I'm up and heading for the door. If he kept going I'd stick my pen in his eyeball. And if he makes me angrier I'm uncertain who'd lose that fight.

 “What is it that you want, then?” And the question is like my back- poison. The need to run throbs through my blood, tempting. And then, the truth flows out like water. _I think I want you. Because being around you is_ \- and so many words pass through my head- infuriating, soothing, comfortable, warm, sleeping, fucking, attractive- that I settle for- _like being unafraid_. And he's silent. Fuck.

“5- at the bar. Wear something black”, he says, just as I wrench my card through the scanner and yank the door open- and like the 3 wise monkeys standing there are Anna, a young cop, and Commissioner Gordon. He even has a hand on his mouth and a laugh threatens. Anna gestures me out of the way and I turn back- and he's The Joker again, leaning back in his chair and grinning lazily.

“What esteemed visitors I have today. Commissioner Gordon, how lovely to see you again- sadly for you there's nowhere to take me- I've been a very good boy. So what could you possibly be disturbing my therapy for? Dr Quinzel is... treating me”. And he grins nastily at them. For my part I'm trying not to be surprised. I'm not assigned to him.

“Cut the shit J. One of your goons is downstairs losing it- you can either come and deal with it, or Commissioner Gordon can “ Anna spits the words out, clearly furious.

“Oh I'm a little busy- you know, getting better. After all, you've approved Dr Quinzel's assignment, haven't you Dr Leeland? I just can't wait to show her my toys.” He leans on the last syllable, deliberately sounding fucking nuts.

Anna's getting angrier. “It's Frost, Joker. And Pam.”

“Well why didn't you say so? Couldn't deal with him, could you?” And he's striding past me, too close. “Who runs this Madhouse? I'm **confused.** ” And he's leaning over her, pushing into her space. “Maybe if you hadn't fucked it up we wouldn't be here- Oh yes Harleen, the good doctor is the one who was screwing Pam. Pam even thought she'd found someone who loved her”.He's hissing the words out into the empty space like venom. “Too scared to deal with this yourself? Oh you'd have to face her, wouldn't you? Who’s the fucking crazy one here?”

Anna's obviously furious, and it hits me that he's telling the truth-it wouldn't upset her otherwise. “Easy for you to say isn't it, pretending you're stuck in here- too afraid to take on the bat and the city police if you just left- Clown Prince of Crime my ass- and now she's signed up to die and there's nothing you can do. How's that for fucking impotent?”

Shit. He's going to fucking strangle her in the hallway. But he just leans in closer to her. "I'm in here, making deals as you say, because I actually **give a fuck** about this city. Could you even imagine what it would be like here if Batman didn't have any checks and balances? Gotham PD can barely keep me in here for therapy, what **would they do** when The Bat MAN had no-one else to turn on but them? And then when he turned on you I can guarantee you'd get down on your knees and beg me to come back- and I’d fucking enjoy it, you fucking slut.” He licks his lips lasciviously at her whispers something in her ear- and he sweeps down the hallway, all of us following in his wake as he looks for the carnage.

 We all make it down to Seg1, and Joker bursts through the doors like a hurricane. Gordon and the kid Cop follow along, but Anna looks at me and says, "Cigarette?" I nod, and honestly I am grateful. We swipe our cards through and stride outside, and Anna takes a seat on the nearest wall. She digs a pack out of her labcoat, and offers me one. We light up and sit in silence for a few minutes. And then she sobs, once, and chokes it down.

 “I should've told you, Harleen. I'm sorry. And I did, do love her. But I was with someone else this morning and it was just so simple. They're not like us. It was so simple to go to bed with someone who wasn't... otherworldly. I was tired of never knowing when she'd come home, if she'd go to the trees and forget me completely. If she'd break my window again. It was simple not wondering if she really wanted to be with me. I couldn't take the way she'd look at me sometimes like she wasn't sure who I am. I just... couldn't. And it's my fault.” Another sob escapes her, and I put an arm around her shoulders.

But all I can think is how much more like them I am than her. Because all I feel is pity for her- how could she not _know_ Pam would come back? Is she so **normal** she can't feel the depth of Pam's love for her? Can she not understand that Joker is half evil half benevolence- that we're dependent on both? Or maybe I'm just **completely fucked**. The thought makes me want to laugh. The mad treating the crazy- the only difference is the ones in the cages don’t hide it. We sit for another ten minutes, in the silence. I'm trying to think of something to say to her, when the doors nearest us burst open, and J walks out. He's got an arm around Johnny Frost, holding him up. He's saying something quietly to him, but he's just too far away for me to hear. Then, louder "My fucking Lambo, Johnny? Really? I swear to God if you've scratched her" and Johnny laughs, and lets him load him into the passenger seat.  He turns towards us, and sneers. But there's an edge of amusement when he looks at me. He sits on the hood of the car, seemingly waiting. I'm trying not to flush, so I light another cigarette and look away.

 _Is it true I'll be assigned to him_ , I ask Anna, quietly. “Yes”, she says. “As of tomorrow”. He laughs, and I'm not sure if it's because he's heard us- I'd wager a yes. She's still teary. Gordon comes out the main doors, and he and J speak for a few moments.

Anna is obviously only just holding it together. Gordon's back is to us, and something mischievous takes over. I slip my labcoat off, and say, _hey Anna- it aint all bad sweetheart_ \- and the sound is pure laughter. And I throw my hands out, cartwheeling through the air, aiming for purchase on the bar just above the door. I don't miss, and as I jump down I slide my card through. And Anna is giggling loudly and clapping, underscored by his slow laugh. I bow, and then hold the door open for her. She slips inside, and I wait a moment longer. He winks at me. I wonder what he's thinking.

 

* * *

 

 If she knew what I was thinking, she'd flush. She's just so flexible. I could enjoy that. Cheeky little thing is bowing at me and grinning. But I meant what I said earlier. She doesn't belong with us. This afternoon will really test if she means what she says. Gordon holds his hand out, and I shake it. He's obviously realized I'm not listening anymore. _Until next time, Gordon,_ I say, and slip back round the car and into the drivers seat.  Time to go and get ready. Clean Johnny up, too, give him something to focus on.

 

* * *

 

The halls are cool, and it feels good- my little stunt outside has made me feel restless. Against my better judgement, I head down to Seg 1, and key myself in. I dump off my coat and shoes, and sit cross legged on the floor in front of Pam's cage. I sit for a minute, and then say _Hey Pam. Not the best day, is it?_

She laughs, and sits forward. “Not the best, no.” And we grin at each other like kids caught with our hands in the cookie jar. She's sitting on the floor, flowers of every description blooming around her. _Pretty_ , I say. She laughs again, and petals start swirling through the air. _Why'd you do it, Pam?_ The swirl picks up, wilder now. "Why are you interested in Joker", she says, trying to deflect.

 _No dice. Because he makes me feel. Normal and different all at once. Because I think I need that. Because I think he looks nice with his shirt off. I'd like to see the rest._ And she laughs, and the swirl slows to something pretty and non threatening.

“Because they were killing things. Touching things they shouldn't. Because I'm done. Because Anna showed me what it was like not to be alone all the time.Because I was choking on my own loneliness.”

I should be trying to convince her to defend herself. But the thing is, I know exactly what she means. I smile at her instead, and she knows I understand. She puts a hand up to the glass, and I put mine to hers.” I'm sorry we didn't have more time to be better friends”, she says.” I could like you quite a lot.” Thinking of J's comment earlier- _we already are friends. I’ll be your friend till it’s over. Till the end._ She smiles again, and it's breathtaking.

 _Stop doing that, I mutter._ She starts to giggle. _So_ , I say- _Pam, I'm invited to the bar this afternoon. He told me to wear something black. What exactly am I in for?_

“Oh Christ. What're you in for? Nothing but the Rogues Gallery. Every time one of us needs help, he holds a poker game. The buy in pays for whatever might be needed. I assume he's inviting you to play. I hope you have a good poker face”, she says.

I smile at her _\- that's all?_

“Don't underestimate him. He’s trying to make you run”, she says. “Harleen- if you win, and the stakes are for a lawyer- choose Harvey Dent.”

 _You mean Two Face?,_ I blurt out like an idiot.

She laughs again-“ I wouldn't call him that to his face. He's a brilliant defender, but not as first chair. He'll stumble and lose, and that will be it. It’ll be over. Can you do that for me?” I nod a yes. “He'll be angry with you. Tell him I told you who to choose.”

I stand to leave, and go to walk away. Instead I sit back down and say, _Pam- I don't have many friends._ _I'm interested in him because- because his venom's going to kill me._ And I roll down my shirt collar, so she can see that the blackness is spreading, leaving a shiny coating of scab on my skin. _It's coming around the side of my ribs now, towards my heart. I had to know. And I'm obviously a sucker for pain. An addict._

She puts her hand out again, and a magnificent flower grows there, then dies as she concentrates.

“I'm sorry”, she says. And she's the only person who knows who hasn't looked at me with pity. And I'm relieved. I stand up again, and shrug on my coat and shoes. She slides something into the tray box of the cell, and I pull it out before leaving, as she whispers to me. I turn towards her at the door, and grin _\- I wasn't lying though. I really would like to see the rest. Especially below the belt line._ She laughs again, and I'm glad.

“Eh. I’ve seen it. It aint bad, but men aren’t my preferred flavor.  I’m told by a reliable source he’s good though” and the look on her face lifts my heart. _I'll see you for therapy tomorrow. And every day after that._ And I'm so relieved by the feeling of understanding, my body unwinds a notch, and it's wonderful.

 

* * *

 

It's quarter to 5 and the table is set, drinks are poured and canapes are next to every seat. I'm sitting on my bar, waiting for everyone to show up. Eddie's the first to arrive, looking lanky in a black silk suit. He hands me an envelope, pours a beer and says,” so where the fuck is everyone”. _On their way. You know how it is. Everyone wants to make an entrance._ He sits down at his place, and pulls out his computer and does something I find incomprehensible. Fucking Eddie. He's never had much grace, and I'm reminded why we don't often have these little pow wows.

Scarecrow is next, looking tired and shady. Which is an achievement. He doesn't even say anything, just, falls into his seat and plays with his shirt cuffs. Kitty slinks in after him, elegant in a dark dress and pearls. She kisses me on the cheek and takes her seat.

Bane is next, and I'm surprised to see him here. There must be something there Pam's never mentioned.  Firefly is next, and I make him leave the flamethrower at the door. He pouts a bit, but hands me an envelope anyway. The Mad Hatter, who, honestly I would've rathered he not come.

 Next is Deadshot. We're not friends, but it's close. He hands over a 2nd envelope, and says “compliments of Victor. It's too warm up here right now for him”. I take it- _tell him I said thanks_. _What's your poison?_ “Scotch, neat”, he says. I hand it over and he takes his seat. Over the next 20 minutes, more filters in, even Two Face, and we have to expand the table and the place settings are forgotten. It's getting hot in here and the entire dance floor is taken up by a poker table of Gotham's worst.

I wonder if Pam realizes how many people love her.

I don't think she's coming, so I get everyone sat, and start dealing. People are smoking, and drinking and there's the low hum of laughter. I'm concentrating until Deadshot clears his throat, and I realize the chatter has stopped. She's standing at the table edge, still small in a pair of heels and a brightly, garishly red dress, with one of Pam's exotic creations tucked over an ear. And the entire room is staring, excepting Kitty, who is snickering.

“Nice dress”, she says.” Pam would approve.” She smiles, and says, “Thanks.”

But Bane, ever in a temper, is up and slams a fist down on my table. “Who are you”, he roars. “What do you want?” Pile of meat for brains idiot. I'm about to intervene, but she uses the edge of the table and handstands onto it and turns.

What I see makes me want to- _something._ The dress is scooped, and the entirety of her back is revealed. She turns slowly, in a circle, so that everyone else can see. Nobody says a word. She turns, and flipping a beer glass into her hands, sits on the table edge, feet tucked under her like a little girl on a school trip. I stand- _This, gentlemen and of course, lady_ (and I smirk at Kitty as I say it, knowing it will irk her) **_is The Harlequin._** I hand her a stack of cards.

 _Tonight we're gathered for Ivy. She's going to need a lawyer. Buy in is 5k, which I've collected_ (at this, she surprises me and hands me an envelope. I'd already bought her in, but I take it anyway and nod) _winner chooses the shark, as is customary. Now let's begin_. The first round knocks out Bane, who throws his chair down and walks out (not that I'm complaining) and Scarecrow, who laughs and says he has people to terrorize. He tells me to wish Pam luck and walks out. She's playing well, not betting too hard, not betting too softly.

Round two knocks out Firefly and The Mad Hatter, both of whom leave too, whispering sweet nothings at each other. Something to do with a heist, but I'm not listening too hard. I'm too busy watching her. The ink all over her seems to move in the dull light, and I could swear it's higher than before. She's laughing at something Deadshot says, and I want to punch him in the face.

The next round everyone raises, and then a call or two and we lose Clayface and Victor. They too, leave, and those of us who are still in push in close, Harleen vaulting one handed into the now empty chair next to me. _Nice trick. I wasn't expecting you to play, but I bought you in anyway_. She smiles at me and puts a hand on my leg as she leans in and-“ **wouldn't want you to think I'm beaten that easy, Puddin.”** Little flirt. I wouldn't mind beating the little upstart until she liked it.  Next round knocks out everyone but me, her, Kitty, Two-face, and Deadshot. Shes running a bare foot up my calf. Everyone raises, excepting Kitty, who calls, and knocks DeadShot out of the round. He stays to watch. We all raise again, and Two face calls Kitty, who is knocked out. She, too stays. Next to me, she’s kneading my thigh with her left hand, right holding her chips. Goddammit. Two Face is out. It's just her and I. We both raise, and she calls. I reveal my straight flush, a very lucky hand. She shows hers.

“ I have the Joker. A wild card”, she whispers, grinning. “And I'm calling it a royal flush. **You lose.** ”  I can't help but smile at her. She's passed the first test. I'm pleased. _Alright then chameleon. Who's your pick?_

Her next words are like being sucker punched. "Harvey Dent" And Two Face laughs, mockingly. And I'm so furious I could kill her. And the dress and the flower make sense. Pam told her what to do.  I slam the nearest set of glasses off the table, and they shatter on the floor.  _Get out. All of you. Not you_ \- And I grab a hold of her wrist, twisting hard enough to hurt. She doesn't even wince, just stills. Waiting. She's brave. I'll give her that.

 

* * *

 

 

And my time, as they say, is up.  Time to sink or swim, girl. I still twitch when he screams at them to get out, and he catches it- and lethally quick a hand is squeezing my wrist hard enough that I’d wince if I wasn’t expecting it.  Too bad. He’s not going to frighten me out that easily. Even if I’d let him I have enough stimulants pumping through my body he’d have to use twice the force.  First play is a loss to him. Because I’ll be damned if I don’t get what I came for.  Kitty is the last to leave. She’s frowning at me, trying to get me to leave.  I just smile at her, and nod. She goes for one last try, and addresses me directly. “I can gift you a lift home if you like, Harlequin?”.

“Get the fuck out Kitty. This is **none** of your business”, and he’s grinding it out.

“I wasn’t talking to you, you irresponsible little shit. She’s mortal- with a twist of otherness, but that doesn’t change the fact that the last time I saw you like this you killed a girl. Now”- and she’s looking at me- “do you want a lift home?”

“An irrelevant little whore. If you don’t leave now I’ll cut you off and burn down that shack you call a house. Now get-“ And I raise my voice over him. _I’ll be fine, but thank you. We’ll have to have coffee sometime._ I smile at her, voice steady.  She looks doubtful, but leaves anyway.

The minute the door slams closed, he pulls, and I use the force he’s exerting as leverage. The pull is enough to get me into the air, and I land with my knees on either side of his hips and use the hand he’s not pulling on to tip his chair back- the edge hitting the edge of the bar. It’s enough force for the bar edge to crack him on the back of the head, and also enough for him to let go of my wrist.  I don’t give him time to recover- just grab his face with both hands and kiss him, hard. He’s not letting go, so I squeeze at his jawline, forcing his mouth open and try again. This time he responds to me, and it’s like electricity burning it’s way down my entire body and I want to fucking shiver. I could kiss him for a lifetime.

 

* * *

 

And kissing her is like drowning, and it sends a jolt of awareness through every inch of me. Clever move, using my own strength against me.  This one might be a worthy match. I take her face in my hands and stick my tongue down her throat and she moans- she relaxes slightly and I bite her lip and all the rage of the last week is going straight for my cock. She wants a fight, she’ll have one. She wants me, she can have me. But I’ll have my pound of flesh first. She’s going to have to get used to being humiliated. I’m still kissing her and she’s practically humming with want.  Time to see if she can take it.

I pull back from her and she moans, wriggling unhappily in my lap. I try to take both her wrists in mine, but she’s not having that. She hits me, hard, across the side of the face. It only makes me want to fuck her more. I can’t help but laugh- she’s obviously frustrated the hit didn’t have more power. That’s enough of that.

* * *

 

I’m fighting lust, knowing if I stop concentrating he’ll have the upper hand, and that it could be a dangerous error. The blow I delivered didn’t even shake him, and it’s obvious I’ve underestimated how strong he is. I’m trying to figure out my next move when he flips me around like so much nothing and my head is about level with the floor and I’m looking at his boots. He’s done it well, too- both my hands are behind my back, and he twists, hard enough to hurt me.

“Now, are you listening? And he twists again. I’ll be damned if I cry out. “I’m going to assume you are. Eventually you’ll learn the right way to respond, but that’s going to take time. And enough of it for me to break you in a necessary way. But, I think we both know how much Harleen hates being humiliated. And how much Harley loves it. So does the whore, or the angel win? Just how much do you really want me? Because if you really do, you’ll stay and have things done to you. And then I’ll fuck you. If not, you can leave now. “

And he lets go. I’m not giving up so easily.  He sits, silently, waiting. He’s going to make me say it. _I want you. You have my consent._  And he leans down and whispers in my ear “Good girl” and licks it, making me shiver again. I feel him yank my skirt up over my ass and he’s yanking my panties down and using them to tie my wrists to the chair arm. The speed he works at has a kind of utilitarian grace.

“I think, sweetheart, that your problem is that he taught you how to feel pain. But nothing else. I’ll start with the first one. Lesson one:  What it really feels like to be _wanted.”_

And I could weep because he’s hitting me where it hurts and he knows it. And then his hands are all over my skin and where the ink is is lit like fire and I can’t help but moan as he slides my dress up, leaving it pooled around my head. He wraps his warm arms around my body and kisses my back, saying, after each kiss- I Want You- while he uses his hands to touch every inch of me.  And It’s like burning and my chest is tight with the pain of it.  _I thought you were going to hit me._ He chuckles and I can feel his warm breath on my back. “I will one day soon, if you come back- but that’d be too easy. Besides, you know how to let someone hurt you, don’t you Harleen. Can you take it when someone doesn’t?”

And the fucking bastard tucks a warm arm around my upper back, hand pulling me close so I can feel how _close_ he is, and lays his head in the middle of my back and I can feel his cold cheek. Then he puts his other hand between my legs and _touches me and the ache builds, until I’m_ on fire with it, and he just holds me steady and _makes me feel it._

 

* * *

 Good fucking God she’s going to have to come soon or I’m going to come in my pants. She’s warm and lithe and soft and I want her like I haven’t wanted anything in the longest time. I increase the speed and pressure and fuck she’s wet and it’s not until I realize she’s crying that it clicks.

 _Come on sweetheart. You can come now. You’re allowed._ And it’s as if I’ve opened a door, and she comes all over my hands and it tastes like seasalt and God I wish she wasn’t marked all over because I’d like to stamp her fresh and it makes me harder at the thought and I unhook and lift her up and even though there are tears on her face her hands are on my belt and then on my cock and they’re hot and then she’s sliding onto me and fuck she’s wet and I pull her in close and whisper in her ear- _come on. I want you to come on me. And next time I’ll hit you._ And she buries her face in my neck and it takes all my focus not to come as she rides me, desperately, and Christ I just need her to get there and I take a hand and press on her clit and she finally lets go, and the sensation makes me roar and I could fuck no-one else but her and it’s _perfect._

 

* * *

 And it’s over, and I hate him for what he just did. Anything but that. My face is still tucked into his neck, and I’m still crying- it’s involuntary.  He shifts an arm under me and stands, lifting me with him. He almost falls, tangled in his own pants, and we’re both laughing and I realize how fucked I am. This isn’t just wanting to know- _I could love him_. Anything more is a question for another time- I just want to enjoy this and not worry about anything, just be here. He chucks me under the chin and says, _there she is._ _I sh_ ift my weight and wrap my arms around him, and he frees his hand and yanks his pants off. _Now, where were we,_ he says, and tickles me as he wraps his arms back around me. _Come on Harley._ And for once I don’t object and he carries me up the stairs and “You have gold sheets? And gold pillows?”

He grunts at me in response and says _shutup or no cookie for you._ He dips me down and yanks the bedclothes back, and lies down, tucking me under his arm, and I could stay here, in this moment, forever. “can you take off your shirt please?”

He doesn’t say anything, just looks at me, then does it. Then he turns out the light, and I see it. He’s put _stars_ on the ceiling.

 

 

 

 


	11. underneath the skin we're all just dancers in the dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!
> 
> For reading ease: when it's Harley's point of view, Joker is bolded, Johnny is plain, and Harley is italicized.  
> I really hate writing he said, she said all the time. If you really have trouble, let me know and I will add those dreaded speaking sentences!
> 
> Please note that this chapter is highly violent and very graphic- if this isn't for you, turn around now.
> 
> Many thanks to letmeloveyou, who let me know I need to clean up the speaks, and you should really check her out on fanfiktion.de- she is a wonderful writer in her own right.
> 
> http://www.fanfiktion.de/u/letmeloveyou
> 
> Otherwise, enjoy- the chapter after this is part done, so it shouldn't be so long between uploads.
> 
> The soundtrack for this chapter is  
> High By the Beach by Lana (yeah I really like her, ok? now shut yer face)  
> Can You Hear Me Now by Hybrid  
> Closer by Nine Inch Nails or Closer by Kings of Leon  
> Breath Control by Recoil for the climax, so to speak.  
> Just depends on your preferred bent, shall we say.
> 
> Enjoy!

 

* * *

 

"I respect its meticulous construction, but you are wearing a  **very**  well tailored person suit." Hannibal

 

* * *

 

Chronic insomnia doesn't make an exit after a good fuck.

You wish it would, but I've been wakeful in the night for so long that I'm not even shocked awake.

He isn't a good sleeper either- he seems to be dreaming. It doesn't seem to be a bad one- so I'll leave him to it. I can't resist the impulse, so I kiss him on the forehead and slip lightly out of his bed. He doesn't stir. His bedroom is surprisingly restrained, considering his usual flair. All dark wood. Except for the gold sheets. Which makes me snicker quietly. I fumble open the nearest drawer and thankfully, there are singlets and underwear. I can borrow a singlet, but I don't fancy the thought of having to go through everything. I yank it over my head and wander out. My back is really starting to itch, but I can ignore it a little bit longer. The bedroom leads into a small, open kitchen. It's all done in wood and startlingly modern considering. I drink a glass of milk in the dark, but I can't ignore it anymore. It's always a counting game- counting the seconds down, seeing how long I can last. I stumble downstairs to the bar, and fortunately someone's left my purse on the counter. I fumble around in it and draw out my kit- my hands are starting to shake and I've little time left. I get the tourniquet around my arm, but my hands are shaking hard enough I'm having trouble getting a vein. Kind hands take it from me, large, but deft, and "how much?" he says.

_All of it._

Johnny Frost is surprisingly good with it, and he draws it back out without hurting me, and undoes the tourniquet. He yanks a chair up and I fold into it, knees tucked under me. He pours me a drink, and sips his own, waiting for the drugs to kick and giving me a few minutes to adjust. It strikes me then just how innately kind he is, this man who has shot plenty of people in the head and hasn't even flinched. He's also very drunk.

 

"Alright?" he asks me.

_Sure. I'm used to it by now._

"How long?"

_About four years._

"Shit girl. You must have a system like iron."

_Not really. It's weakening, in it's way. I'm not as strong as I used to be. I've hit him upstairs twice now. Once it would've at least knocked him down. It didn't._

He laughs, and says "Go for the nose next time. It's been broken so many times it'll at least stun him. Besides, you know they're stronger than we are, don't you? You're doing well if he wavers."

That makes me chuckle. _I'm hoping I won't have to again. At the rate I'm slowing down he won't even waver._

"Ah. He likes a little fight. Keep him on his toes- he could use someone saying no to him every now and again. Good for the soul I say."

_Sure. You should give it a go._

He laughs, choking a little on his drink. "I did once." And he turns his arm over and there's a massive web of scarring in the shape of a HA. "He's quite artistic when you piss him off."

_Fuck. What'd you do?_

"I knocked him the fuck out and dragged him away from a fight with the Bat. Haven't tried that one since. I was new enough to think he was really in trouble."

The drugs are kicking in, and I can't help but sigh, and he says "better?"

_Yep. Look- Johnny- I'm really sorry about what happened today._

"Don't. She was never going to love me. I just had my head in the damned clouds."

And I understand just how much pain he's in. And I hold his hand, and he stays very still, then wraps his big paw around mine, and we sit there in the dark, and I know, know just how much it cost him.

 

After a few minutes silence, he takes his hand back, and lights me a cigarette, and one for himself.

"So how'd you learn to dance like that?"

I smirk at him. _Self taught. Exercise keeps my body as strong as it can be. Years of gymnastics, then later a couple of ordinary dance classes. My condo belonged to a stripper before I moved in, and she left the pole behind. It's soothing. I'll show you some of the funner stuff if you like?_

"Why not- nothin too hot though or I'll be in trouble."

He's obviously making fun. _Pick a song, then._

The opening bars start up, and I can't help but crack up. He's turned it on soft.

 

**Boy look at you looking at me**

**I know you know how I feel**

**Loving you is hard, being here is harder**

**You take the wheel**

**I don't wanna do this anymore, it's so surreal**

**I can't survive if this is all that's real**

**All I wanna do is get high by the beach**

 I grab a hold of the pole, and spin around it, lifting myself high, higher up still, till I've almost spun myself to the ceiling. Then I scissor my legs out, and hold myself straight, purely still and then the drop- legs round the pole, letting go at the same instant, and using my calves to slide myself down. And then I stop concentrating, just enjoy the flood of adrenalin through my muscles. It's the perfect flow, and then- then I miss, and land hard, on my knees on the stage.

 

Fuck.

 

"You alright kid? That was quite the miss."

Johnny gives me a hand up, and I can't help but appreciate it.

 _Yeah. Not as fast as I used to be. It'll be a bit of a bruise but it's fine._ It feels like I shouldn't be lying to Johnny- but I don't want to tell him the truth. And the truth is that I'm losing my reflexes one second at a time. Obviously my dose wasn't high enough. I wonder how much my body will take before my heart gives out?

 Johnny and I sit, listening to the music, companionably. It lasts another 30 minutes.

The Joker pounds down the stairs, two at a time. **And he really is.**

Sharply fitted black pants and  a dark shirt, hair slicked back and guns holstered under his armpits. I want to laugh at how similar it is to mine. Black and white spats complete it, along with a dizzying array of jewelry. He looks like a strung out pimp. And pretty fucking magnificent.  I could get used to listening to him issue instructions.

 **"Johnny- get up man. Call for the cars. They need to be ready in 10 minutes. Howard called. He's moving kids in again."** He turns to me. **"Can you get home? Or you can stay here if you want, but I'll not be in the best mood later."**

 _Where are you going?-_ I can’t help but ask. Part of me wants to see him as he really is.

 **"Nowhere you want to be, Doctor."** And it's almost an epithet, and it pisses me off.

 _I'll be dressed in five minutes._ He looks at me-obviously weighing it up.

 **"Fine. There are some red pants in the bottom drawer that should fit, and a black shirt. Make sure there are no identifying markings visible. Can you cover up your neck?"** He's impatient. **If not, there's chains and chokers in the top drawer. Cover it up. There's also a red mask in the top drawer. Can you shoot?"**

_Accurately enough. Nothing heavier than a 22 though._

**"Johnny, get her a pair- hip holster or arms?"** I tap my arms to indicate, and he nods. " **Go. If you've got a Doctors bag with you, bring it- and as many painkillers as you have on you."** As he speaks he's pulling on a hip wrap that has a dizzying array of knives on it. I wonder if he knows how to use them all. I like knives and it almost makes my mouth water.

" _Got another one of those? I'm reasonable with a gun, but better with knives."_ He cocks his head at me, and in answer I yank 3 from the belt- one is slightly heavier than I'd prefer, but still, 3 tosses and they've each landed firmly in the wall opposite, pinning a ribbon to it.

**"Later you'll have to tell me who taught you how to do that- there is a smaller one in the bottom of the wardrobe. It doesn't have quite the same selection, but they'll be close to weighted correctly for you."**

And I've got my purse and I'm taking the steps back up quick as I can. Two advil and half a syringe later and I'm yanking on the shirt and pants. The only shoes that'd fit are heeled boots that look like red lacquer, but it'll have to do. My heels aren't made for movement, and these are. I can't find my pancake so I thumb through the top drawer. There's a wide ribboned choker with Joker on it, and it suits my sense of humor and I want the chance to ask him where he got it-and it'll do. I yank the knife belt out of the bottom of the wardrobe and it's pretty- more like a full waist wrap. It's got 10 lethally sharp knives pinned to it, and I yank one off to see how fast I can pull- they're magnetically weighted there and it's a sharply clever mechanism. All except the last one are the right weight for me to throw. I tuck it to the side and fly down the stairs, slipping past him and the now twenty gathered men. My work bag is behind the bar where I left it, and I do a quick check, pulling out anything unnecessary and adding the additional bandages and gauze Johnny throws at me, stacking it for easy reach.

He hands me a pair, holstered and I wrap it over my shoulders- I'm surprised it fits.

 He's issuing instructions at high speed. " **Alright everyone. Quiet and quick. No unnecessary mess tonight. We have a Guest. If she's hurt I'll personally score a strip of your back for every scratch. Understood?"** I pull my hair up and wrap the red tips out of sight, and pull on the mask.  He turns to me- and smirks. " **I like the choker. Stay close as you can to me. It's counter-intuitive but you're least likely to sustain any real harm. Keep the knives ready if you're better with them than the guns."** He turns back to the gathered men. " **Go.** " The move out quickly and quietly, and there are 4 black vans parked out the front. Smart. His car would just attract unwanted attention. We climb into the back of the first van. J-

 **"Shh."** He's concentrating, and I leave him to it, pulling the knives from my belt and making sure all of them are ready for use.  " **Alright- listen to me carefully. Over the last 3 months someone's been shipping kids into gotham, via the docks. I'm not sure if they're for a brothel or for the men in this town who get off on torture, but either way we find them drugged up, half dead and out of their minds. I placed some men and they finally got back to me- a shipment's being picked up tonight. I had you bring your bag because I'm not sure what condition they're in. Some are very young. If you can't do this because of your history, I need you to tell me now. I'm sorry, but if you lose it it might get my people killed."**

That fucking Prick. I react without thinking and jam the smallest knife right up under his chin. _What do you mean, my history?_ and I'm so pissed off I knick him. He looks at me, steady. "I **had Johnny look into you the first night you danced in my bar. I don't let anyone get close to me without knowing who they are. I'm sorry but it's necessary. Half your files are blacked out anyway- all I know is that he hurt you from 12-16, and that you made it out. Hence why I asked you."**

  _He_?

  **"The Bat."**

 _Not quite right but we can talk about it later. I'll be fine. If they need treating do you want me next to you, or do I fall behind?_ **"Stay close."** And he yanks me closer and kisses me, hard. In response I bite his lip- _this conversation isn't over_ \- and he laughs. And the van pulls to a halt and he's yanking the back door open, and I'm surprised when he takes my hand. The men all fan out around the warehouse, and he gives a nod and the doors are being yanked open. And it's quiet as a tomb. They fan out in front of us.

"Boss!" Johnny's call is urgent and we turn to the left and he's put his hand out and- not her- he's saying urgently.  I step underneath their arms and what I see almost makes me want to vomit.

A filthy mattress dominates the center of the room, and chained to it is a little boy. His whole body, from his neck to his feet is covered in scabs shaped like scales and he's lying in his own blood. I recognize the work. Just to be sure, I turn his head, and behind his ear, like mine, is a tiny F. I touch his throat and he turns his head to bite- he's run completely mad. There isn't anything I can do. Obviously he's not any better at it than he was.  I pull my pistol and before J can get his arm up to stop me I put a bullet in it's head. I've miscalculated and I end up with a face full of blood. I wipe it off, and turn back to them. J's looking at me the way I used to imagine looking at the monsters as a doctor. Johnny's gaping.

 _It's kinder. There was nothing we could do. Drugs might've helped but I haven't enough on me to treat if there are more._ And I step past them both and move forward.

"Jesus Christ" says Johnny. " **Yeah"** says Joker in reply, and there's something in it. I won't turn around. It's the same thing in every room. I can break down later.  They're all too far gone.

Until the last. A little blonde girl and the fucker's left a toy in her. "Help me", she whispers, and I get to work cleaning her up. Until she says it again, and again, and again, and I realize that's all that's left. I take a syringe out and give her some, and she smiles. Then I put a bullet in her brain and step back. I finish cleaning her up and kiss her on the forehead. Goodnight, sweetheart. I'm sorry. I make my way back out and J is interrogating a couple of guys strapped to chairs. I shove him out of the way thoughtless of anything except rage. I rip his shirt open, and lodge the largest knife, the one I can't throw, in his gut. And leave it there.

_You know the thing about having a knife in your gut? It really hurts because your stomach acid seeps out of the wound. It's going to take you 30 minutes to die, and I'll make every minute of it filled with pain until you're out of your fucking mind. So I suggest you answer my questions._

 

* * *

 

 

It takes her 3 minutes to establish that he knows fuck all, and instead of putting him out of his misery she turns to the other one.

He grins at her and laughs and says "He said welcome back- he's been waiting. You were as predictable as he hoped." She pistol whips him across the face, and looks at the back of his head. Obviously she reaches some kind of conclusion because she walks away, and comes back with a can of gasoline. "Get everyone out. We have to burn it all down."

Instead of asking questions, I whistle and everyone heads for the front. _"I'll just be a minute",_ she says.

 I tell Johnny to get everyone into the vans, and send them all off, home to their people.  Then I take a seat and watch her stick a knife in the second ones gut and pull it upwards, as if she were gutting a deer. She works quickly, focused, stripping the skin back from his ribs with practiced assurance. I’m not sure if she’s looking for something or in the grip of fury. Either way it’s mesmerizing. Eventually she steps back,  and makes a keening sound. She might be as lethal as me. It’s a neat mess, exactly the kind of work I like. I get up and take her hand, and yank her back pouring gas on the ground. A second later and it’s lit. We make it out just ahead of the flames _. I didn’t know you were surgically trained._ “I’m not”, she whispers, and that I do find interesting.

Johnny is waiting next to the last van, smoking a cigarette.  We get in the back, and Johnny peels out as soon as the door is closed. She leans across the back of the van and climbs into my lap and even though I can't hear it over the rattling, I know she's sobbing. I tuck her head under my chin and stroke her hair back off her neck and she's shaking so hard I'm truly shocked she lasted so long.

I want to shake answers out of her, but instead, I hold her tight, all the way back.

 

She's out of the van faster than I would've thought she had in her, and I stop to ask Johnny to leave. he waves a hand at me and says "I think you'll have your hands full with trouble in there. I'll stay in the loft." **Thanks Johnny. If that isn't the biggest liability to walk into our lives I'll be damned.** He just nods at me and drives off, and I follow her inside.  Where the little bitch has decided to shoot up in the middle of my fucking bar. She’s ripped off the weaponry and dumped it, along with her shirt on the floor.  And quite suddenly I'm visciously angry.

**Is this what you, are, then? A regular little addict?**

  _"And what the fuck are you? Gothams baddest man who wanders around saving kids, being compassionate towards people? You aren't what it says on the tin, either, asshole."_

**You don't know what I am. Don't be so presumptuous. And it feels good to hit her, finger in her face. Don't even-**

But she's broken my fucking nose before I've even finished speaking and it's enough to stun me and she laughs and mutters, Johnny was right. " _So what are you going to do about it_ " she mocks.

 **Well that should be obvious you thrice damned brat. I'm going to teach you how to behave. And after that you're going to tell me what the fuck just happened**. But she's quick, and before I can grab her she's up the stairs and running. It's exciting and I'm up and after her and because I know the place better I catch her quickly and I'm almost frustrated by it. She whines in my arms, and wriggles against me. Oh no you don't. 3 steps backward and a quick slam and she's up against my wardrobe door and stunned. I use the time to get her pants undone. She uses it to thump me in the ribs. It's enough to make me grunt, and she kisses me, and then goes for my face.

 **That's enough of that Princess**. And I flip her to the left, dangling over the dresser, and pin her there. I fumble through my drawer but she's upset the order of things, so needs must. My belt it is. **We're going to do this until you tell me you feel better. Calmer. That you'll behave for me, little girl.** And I yank her pants the rest of the way down. And I hit her hard with the short end of the buckle, twice on each cheek. But it's only enough to make her moan, not enough to scream. She's silent so I keep going. Two more are enough to make her gasp. Two more and she screams. But she doesn't give in. It takes 10 more strokes- until I break the skin, and finally, finally, _"I'll be good. I'm calm. Please_."

About fucking time. I slam my cock into her right up to the hilt and I'm more excited than I've been in the longest time and she smells like fucking violence and whatever she is I could fucking drink it and she says, almost conversational, _you know, sometimes when you let someone do something to you you're really doing it to them._ And then she comes and I want to keep her forever and I'm not long behind and shes like a goddamned drug and _come on_ she says, and I do.

And I'm almost mad it's over.

 

* * *

And he picks me up, careful not to hurt me, and sits up against the headboard, splaying me across his fucking lap like so much jelly and starts to clean me up, disinfecting it and then rubbing something anti-bacterial in it and I can't help but ask-

_why do you need to do this-_

**"Because I know how to take good care of my things. How do you think I've stayed so pretty all this time"** \- and it makes me laugh and he chuckles and says, **"and because you're going to tell me a story."**

_Well, once upon a time, there was a Princess- and she ruled a twisted kingdom that smelled like pain and yearning. She was the daughter of a poisoner, and it was a bad thing from the start. But the Princess took a wrong turn somewhere, and instead of killing him, like she had planned she ended up in the lap of the Laughing King-_


	12. It's not a fairytale, or Home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heavy Violence warning. And Rape/nonconsent, described.  
> Don't say I didn't warn you.  
> When she speaks, she's italicized. He isn't.  
> Tracks for this chapter are : 100 Needles for Zil (https://soundcloud.com/maggiesmithmusic/100-needles-for-zil) and Sia, Breathe Me.  
> Enjoy!

 

* * *

 

 _"Words_ are living things. They _have_ personality, _point of view_ , _agenda_. " Hannibal

* * *

 

 

_And the Princess looked at the Laughing King, and said, I know what you are, and you know what I am, and if I told you nothing more at all, would you let me stay?_

Her question makes me still. How silly. “What a ridiculous question. You already are staying. Have you killed me?” And I mean it. If she means to kill me by fucking me to death it's a poor strategy.

 _But I already did._ The seriousness in her face makes me stop, again. _You've had 3 drinks sitting with me. The irony is- it doesn't even seem to have changed anything._

 “You hit my nose harder, girl. Should I say, not thrilled that Johnny told you about the nose. It usually takes them a month or so to figure it out, if they're the fighting type. “

  _Them?_

 “Jesus Christ Woman. I wasn't celibate before you rocked up. I don't know if you noticed but I like fucking. It's particularly good fun with you, though.”. She’s just so offended. It’s priceless.

 She grumbles at me. _I'm glad you're entertained_. _The last person whose throat I poured a drink down choked to death on their own vomit._

 “See, sweetheart, that's the bit that surprises me. This pale blonde in a frumpy skirt who seems to be able to provoke crowds to fucking crazy and doles out poison to as yet unnamed people, can gut someone, and seems to be moral in some kind of fucked up amoral way- where the fuck else would you end up? I haven't been this absorbed in twenty years, and I don't exactly sit around doing nothing. Takes energy and time to consistently scare the shit out of people, and we haven't even touched on the money it takes.”

She's irked, and twists my nose back into place rather harder than required. And I laugh at her and yank her back by the shoulders, landing hard on her ass between my legs. I can't help but laugh again, and tuck and arm around her- turning out the lights.

 “Now finish the story. Sitting on your sore ass. Keep you awake long enough.”

 

And the words roll out of her as if they'd been waiting all along for someone to just ask.

 

 

* * *

 

 

_Stories like Cinderella like to pretend that every peasant girl sleeps with a rich man, and comes out the better for it- when the truth is something else- my mother went to the ball, and lost her shoes on the way home, but instead of being pursued by a Prince she stumbled out of an abandoned house, violated, and once upon a time there was a fairy godmother, in all the other stories, there is none, and this is one of the others. And she goes home without a coach, for this girl a pumpkin is a pumpkin and she’s fucked her chances and she knows it, she's not stupid. But she is pregnant-_

_and you'd think, having met my father, the poisoner with the ready smile willing to take on a girl with a belly that the story would have ended well, but life isn't a fairytale filled with Castles and silk dresses._

_And it was, for long enough that in the beginning, there were four. But like any man with an obsession, men with obsessions are **dangerous** , and my father was no different._

_And so the Princess was the daughter of a poisoner, and it was bad from the start. The poisoner decided he liked his own creations more than his wife and children, and couldn't bring himself to sell them any longer. But his daughter, the Princess, still loved him. When his wife told him that the children were hungry, he beat her and retreated into his work room. And his daughter, the Princess still loved him, even as she went hungry. And the Princess spent time with her father in his workroom, and for love she tasted anything he asked. She didn't know then that the process was an inoculation. And when he hit them, and she had a broken rib, she still cartwheeled through the air just to make him laugh. But one day, her mother broke into his workroom, and smashed everything, and that day, he lost his mind._

  _He went out and got some work, and came home with the makings of a good meal, and he cooked it and fed it to them, all of them except the girl child who wasn't his was the only one who smelled the poison and hid. And he sat down with his wife and two sons that looked exactly like him, and in his madness he missed the girl child, and in the irony that only real life can provide, the child that wasn't his was the only one with an affinity for poisons, and it would be her undoing._

_Because some stories aren't good ones, and some hurts stay with you. He made sure that hers would remain, and the Princess learned that love is dangerous. And when the panic passed, she came out from her hidden place and found their bodies smelled, and learnt a new lesson- obsession is both your brilliance, and your hamartia. Achilles was only as good as his heel._

_And so like a fairytale, the Princess had her call to adventure forced upon her, but there was no noble reason. The system collected her, and put The Poisoner and his wife and children in bodybags, and absorbed the Princess into a place filled with delinquents whose only lessons in life had been that someone would hurt them. She survived, for a time, until she was given a bed in a room with a girl whose lesson was thieving, and the thief tried to take her only memento, and in so doing, provoked The Princess to rage, the Princess got her first scar- the first of many._

_The Princess, like most damaged people, made yet another error of judgement. She ran, not knowing that you can lose much more than a necklace. Little fool. And she ran, to the only place she could think of. Another inventor, a man like her father. They called him The Fox, and she had no real idea of his significance. And The Fox opened his door to her and smiled and she should have known then, but desperation has a knack for making us blind to warning. And she walked through his open door, and slept the last good sleep of her life._

_And the Fox grinned his sly grin, and woke her up, and told her that he had changed her while she was sleeping, and she couldn't see and was terrified. Some poisons, you see, require activation, and The Fox, rather than artificially introducing it via adrenalin, preferred to make sure that you really, really felt yourself change. The way he enjoyed doing that, was pain. And he was not immune to a desire for flesh, and the Princess conveniently satisfied that too._

_And like a dripping tap, the Princess learned **new** lessons. She learned that fear isn't flight, but instead that it creeps, inch by inch through your bloodstream, until you think you might run mad with it. And Fox enjoyed that too._

_Just like he enjoyed the days, forcing her damaged body to fight. Knives, guns, gymnastics. She liked knives because she could imagine killing him with one. But he never got close enough._

_And then he taught her that pain- pain can be delivered in an endless flow of stop starts. All it requires is a careful watch- careful enough to make sure you don't die. And enough irregular kindnesses to make sure the person you're hurting still hopes, because without hope they'll let themselves die._

_And once he'd done that, his control slipped- two years of it- his excitement was too great to contain. And he fucked her as she screamed, fighting off the monsters he'd made. And he decided he liked that too. And when that wasn't enough, well, then he taught her to beg. “Please Lucius. Please. I’ll be good. I promise, please” and then he’d hurt me anyway._

 

At this her voice breaks, but she shakes her head and keeps going.

 

_And once she got very, very good at that, he taught the Princess pleasure, too. And she enjoyed it, and because pleasure acts like an anaesthetic, she found herself dependent, until it was hard to tell the difference between the two, and then he forgot himself and lay down with me one night after and told me he loved me. And I let him. Night after night after night. And then one day I tried to jam a needle in his spine, and he woke up from his dreams._

_And the next night he started to cut me up- and stopped cleaning me up, and my own filth accumulated, and he came back again and again to fuck me, and he took away the hope and I thought, thought at last I'd die the night he came with the needle filled with your venom, stolen by the Batman- like a thief in the night. And it whispered through my blood stream and I was so high I stopped feeling it, and well, you've seen. Beneath the property there used to be a W. He was trying to make another one of you- just for the Bat instead of against him. And I lay there hating, hating, hating you. Because I would've died. And God I wanted to, I wanted it over. But something in the shit in my back is poisonous, and life sustaining. Fox enjoyed telling me that when it spreads to my heart I'll die. And he came back day after day and hurt me some more. He'd gotten lost, you see, and forgotten what he meant to do, lost sight completely._

_And finally, one day, The Bat came, and he picked the Princess up and carried her away. He cleaned her up himself, and had her records sealed, and gave her the finest education money could buy, and worst of all he begged her forgiveness. He hadn't known. He said "I would never send tortured children to tip the balance". And he tried to be kind, but he's strangely blank- he can only really feel for the whole, not the singular- if he did he'd question his own actions. And he gave her an apartment, and enough money to go forever, and as soon as he was gone, she left and never touched any of it. All she wanted was a normal life, and she fell in love with a Boy, and one day she woke up screaming, and in the weakness of the early dawn, she told him the truth. And he called her a monster, and she realized she was living someone else's life, and slit his throat. And she tried, tried to get at Fox but he'd been hidden from view like some kind of virus._

_And then one night I lay awake knowing I was running out of time and realized that the key was you. If I took you away, all the rest is noise, and they'd both be wounded beyond repair, neutralized. But then you drank my fathers poison, and you didn't even blink. And then you-_

 

and she chokes.

 

_And then you- and then you were different, and necessary, all at once. And I'd let it all go, everything, if I could stay here, die here, in bed next to someone who doesn't want to hurt me. And it's the best drug I've ever done. I'm not expecting you to love me, but I could die happy next to someone who sees me, and isn't afraid._

And she takes my hands in hers,  and they’re so small and she says, _you watched me gut someone and didn't even flinch- didn't so much as move. But Lucius knows I'm here, because that message was for me. He hasn't given up. He's punishing me for leaving. And he'll hurt as many as he has to. He's telling me to come home.-_ and she starts to sob, the heartbroken sobs of a child.

And despite everything, despite myself, despite the   _danger_ she's carried in my door-

“Lucius isn't _home_.” And she leans back into me and I wait until the sobs subside, and the remaining days, and hours and minutes are lying on my bed, heavier than lead. “How long? Tell me the truth.”

 

_Maybe a year._

 

And she murmurs, singing quietly against my chest.

_I see the moon, and the moon sees me-_

_the moon sees the one that I want to see-_

_so God bless the moon-_

_and god bless me_

_and god bless the one that I want to see_

_but darkness, it seeps on, freed_

_and willing, I'd let you hurt me_

_just make sure you really see_

_what it means to  me_

 

And I stroke her hair until she falls asleep. And lie there, staring at the ceiling, watching the dawn break and finally, pick up my phone to call Johnny. And if fucking Pam weren't being an idiot I'd call her too. As it is, I'm going to have to convince her she's going to have to die later. The thought makes me grin, feral. We could use a little blood in the streets. Let's see how they like it when I let the monsters from their cages. The pleasure in the thought makes my muscles twitch with pent up anticipation.

And for a minute I can smell the terror, and taste their blood on my tongue, like heavy metal.

_Oh yes._

And of course I'm going to hurt her- I am what I am. Damage is in the accrual, and I wonder when she'll say,  _Please, take your hand away._


	13. Daddy Issues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah so... they're really nuts. Enjoy.
> 
> Warnings for some pretty graphic BDSM that teeters into abuse- well, that depends on your view, I suppose, but I'm warning for it, kay? Also sex. And powerplay. And well, not for kids or the squeamish, okay.
> 
> Songs for the chapter are:
> 
> Daddy Issues, by The Neighborhood  
> Cosmopolitans- originally a poem by Erin Mckeown- adapted into a mix originally for Nip/Tuck. If you search youtube for cosmopolitans nip tuck, you'll find it.  
> So Damn Beautiful by Poloroid  
> Try Tonight- originally released by Lana Del Rey when she was May Jailer on the sirens album. So if you think you know her sound, it was different before, so go listen.
> 
> Referenced and honorable mentions: Pretty Baby, also released as May Jailer when he says "if you don't like it when I touch you like that" and Habits by Tove Lo, the Hippie Sabotage Remix was direct inspiration.
> 
> Letmeloveyou beta'ed for me, and convinced me to leave the darker bits in- as she pointed out, it's the tinge of madness that's missing without those bits.  
> Do let us know what you think- now- shut your eyes, put your head back, and enjoy it in bed with our favorite crazy lovers.
> 
> And don't forget, no matter what you might think otherwise- it *is* a love story.

 

* * *

 

 

“Some are born mad, some achieve madness, and some have madness thrust upon 'em.”

Emilie Autumn, The Asylum for Wayward Victorian Girls

**Take you like a drug**

**I taste you on my tongue**

**You ask me what I'm thinking about**

**I tell you that I'm thinking about**

**Whatever you're thinking about**

**Tell me something that I'll forget**

**And you might have to tell me again**

**It's crazy what you do for a friend**

**Go ahead and cry little girl**

**Nobody does it like you do**

**I know how much it matters to you**

**I know that you got daddy issues**

**And if you were my little girl**

**I'd do whatever I could do**

 

Daddy Issues, The Neighborhood

 

* * *

 

 

 

Have you ever woken up from a dream, thinking it was real? Or wondered if the dreaming was real, and reality is just something **blue**?

I wake up feeling disoriented, just like that. I'm slick with narcotic sweat, and I feel like I'm living someone else's life.

As if any second now, someone will wake me up, and tell me it was a joke.

 

The air smells of cigarette and musk. I open my eyes, and he's sitting against the headboard, and sometime in the last few hours I've anchored myself around his leg. He's smoking, and the ashtray next to him is half full, a cigarette burning in it now. He has a small laptop sitting on his lap, and he's tapping away at it. I'm surprised to see he wears glasses- but even they are anachronistic- they're small, and perched on the edge of his nose, and it if it weren't for the- well everything- he could be a professor, and the thought makes me start to giggle. And it's laughter that feels a bit like madness- it has me by the throat and I can't stop. It bubbles out of me, and he pulls his glasses from his nose and looks at me, waiting for me to explain, but it only makes me laugh harder. And he's frowning, and it's getting worse, and he puts the computer aside and pulls me up into his lap, and he's drawing circles on my back, wide and "shhhh. shhhh.." As if he's soothing an infant, shhh shhhh.

 

And as quickly as it came, it's gone. I'm distracted. I'm finally getting a proper look at his chest in real light, and it's like someone's fucked up crayon art. A set of cards run over his shoulder, and into the crook of his neck, and I can't help but run my fingers over it. "Fuck you have attention issues" he grumbles. "Life. You're all in, or you're out" And I trace the Ha's splattered over his shoulder and chest like ink calligraphy "Life is rarely funny." and I trace it over with my finger tips, moving to the knife on his arm. "Reality is a knife edge" and over again, swirling my finger tips over the reaper on his other shoulder "Explanatory." I point at the bird on his arm, and he says "Icarus." I can't help but be surprised, and "You know. Flew too close to the sun."

  _I know the myth. Why?_ I ask.

 

"I was very angry, at the time. The pain from the needle calmed me down. It's not my most inspired one. Reminds me... not to.. let go." And I trace down, running my fingers over his name. At this he grins at me "So you don't forget who you're fucking, sweetheart. Also doubles as ID if I ever lose a fight. No body mixups."

I run my fingers over them, and then to the J underneath his eye, and his smile widens, and he says, "judgement". "I see you, and I"- and he taps the J. And run my thumb over his forehead. "So you know what I am. From the first moment you see me, I'm not lying. Most people don't want you to know what they are, they hide it- underneath respectability, their family, how other people see them. The suburban dad who volunteers for the neighborhood watch, but really wants to fuck little girls. The teacher who really hates his students, and covers it in a nice suit. The girl who wears the nice pencil skirt and blouse and has a job helping but really wants to kill, to be freed"- and he runs a thumb over my bottom lip. And I'd be angry if it wasn't true, if I didn't feel like somebody else, masquerading.

But really, I can't stop touching his skin... the dark lines are entrancing, and instead _Do you ever feel like you're somebody else? And that other person is just waiting for you to wake up and realize that it's all wrong, and you can't always manage it? And that any minute now someone's gonna wake you up and tell you it's all a mistake?"_

 

He looks at me, grabs my chin- makes sure I'm paying attention. "I know exactly." And the gravel in his throat makes my breath hitch, and I flex my hips against his hands, involuntary. "Is there something you want from me?" he says, amusement playing on his lips. And I kiss him instead, and he says, "You're going to learn to ask, you know. But since I want something-" and flips me onto my back and wags a finger at me. "Don't make a sound till I've had my fill- I want to taste your cunt" and he puts a hand on my ribs, holding me in place and then he eats me out, drawing slow, maddening circles with his tongue, teasing, mmmmmm he purrs out, and speeds up and _J please_ and quick as lightning he bites my inner thigh, hard, and all it does is make me want to come and he laughs- "all that chit chats gonna get ya hurt, baby. Now shut the fuck up."

And he starts again and it's so fucking good and it's harder and harder to stay quiet and I can't take it anymore and I try to sit up, and he smacks me hard across the face and "You didn't ask. Good girls ask for what they want. Learn to ask and you'll become more yourself." He bites my nipple, hard enough to draw blood. "I'll help you do anything you want to to anyone else- I'll show you how- but with me, you'll ask." And then he taps me gently on the ribs, and goes back down, and "come on baby, come for daddy-" and he sticks his tongue inside me and thumbs my clit and I'm lost, and I could like being this someone else and he's groaning and it's so fucking good and it takes me a moment to realize he hasn't stopped and "are you alright?" and he clears his throat and "Oh Nothing. Just came in my pants like a teenager-" and he's laughing, and he scoops me up and carries me out, into the bathroom and sits me on the toilet. He turns on the shower and leaves, coming back with my kit in his hands.

 

He ties the tourniquet round my arm, and measures out a dose himself, and finds a vein, neat, concentrating. When he's done, he kisses me on the forehead and says "No more until I give you more Harley." And he waits for me to nod a yes and starts shucking his clothes.

And if this is being someone else, if this is crazy, I can take it. It's the most gentled crazy I've ever felt, the safest.

 

* * *

 

I've sent her on her way- as it is, I'm not due at Arkham till 2- Johnny will make sure she makes it into the building without falling into a pit, and in the meantime, I've work to do. The Falcones are demanding to up their rates, but I'll be damned if I don't check the numbers first. After that, I need to talk to Pam about the as yet unplanned grand plan, and then possibly Kitty, depending on how mad she is at me. Perhaps also Crane, but he's unpredictable so talking to Johnny and the others first is a must. It's not possible to pay Nero off, so the difficulty will be in how to sideline him.

I've learned, over time, that questioning other people's motives is a worthy use of time. Questioning my own leads to... problems.

 

So I won't. I won't. **I won't**.

And that reminds me to get some water and take my pills.

 

* * *

 

 

I am really not going to enjoy the next few months of waiting for trial. I don't regret what I did, but even so I don't like cages. As a consequence, I've turned my cell into a garden, and I'm already bored, and swirling petals through the air, when she walks in, and sits on the floor, not even coated. She seems.. different. Like someone's untwisted something. I'm not sure that's a good thing. Then, instead, she stands and swipes her cardkey in the door, and produces a thermos of coffee.

 

She sits next to me and pours two cups, and-

_Hi Pam-_

"You fucked him, didn't you?"

_Yep._

"So was it good?"

_Also yes._

"Great?"

 _Mhhhmmm. Also probably a terrible mistake, but split the difference._ She shrugs at me. _I can't._

"Well, you're screwed now. I hear it was quite the card game though." I can't help but smirk at her, and she smacks me on the shoulder.

_Pam! You knew all along!_

"I didn't. I only heard up to the bit where you landed in his lap and smacked him on the back of the head. Coulda gone either way."

_Fucking Johnny. It was, wasn't it?_

"I will neither confirm, nor deny" and I'm laughing, and it feels good- good to have a friend, and she's laughing too, and it's one of those inconsequential moments that mean everything.

And she slips her hand into mine.

"So what's the deal. Why aren't you dying of poisonous plant lady?"

_Poison innoculation. Surprisingly effective against most things. Not everything though. But Pam- poisonous plant lady? Really?_

And it's not even funny but we sit there and laugh until we're both almost crying with it. And it's good.

 

 

* * *

 

  _Good afternoon, Dr Quinzel._

 She tumbles in to the therapy room, looking- disjointed.

“Mr- Joker.” And she's already on the wrong foot. She tumbles into her chair. A closer look and I can see the sweat beaded on her forehead. She's starting to struggle.

But she hasn't broken the rules- yet. But she's in worse shape than I thought she would be by 2.

 

“Let's start with the basics, shall we?” she says.

And begins spewing out a laundry list of questions.

“What's your real name?” _It doesn't matter_.

“How old are you?” _I don't know. I hardly care to remember_.

“How do you think others see you?” _They fear me. They really shouldn't unless they're collateral damage to my management. I'm hardly an uncontrolled killer._

“And why do you think they should be collateral damage?” _People sometimes are. What is the point of all these endless questions. I am what I am._

She's irritating me. Goddammit I have other things to do than talk shit about my... whatever. Like get Pam onside. This whole thing is irritating, and I have things to do.

 

* * *

 

 

He's sitting across from me, legs crossed, completely fucking unfazed.

I, however, am feeling the withdrawal, and my head's hurting something fierce. He's irritated by the questions, but it has to be possible to separate who I am here, from who I am there. Otherwise I'll run mad with it.

I take a moment, and slip an aspirin out of my pocket, and down it with some water. He leans forward in his chair, until his nose is level with mine, and he smells good.

"What, **precisely**  was that?" and it's almost a low hiss, and he's frightening.

 

 _Please- don't lean over me._ In response he settles his elbows on the table, and pushes further into my space. _Aspirin. My head hurts_.

And he stands, stepping adroitly around the table, and his hands are tangled in my hair, scratching my head, rubbing the tension out of it, and it makes me sigh. His hands are warm, and it's the first soft moment since 10.

And then he's in front of me, kneeling, and I can feel his hand on my face, and I hold it, despite the distractions in my mind- the fear, Lucius, the bit that's saying come on, harley, you know you want to shoot up- who is he to tell-

and I feel his hand on my face, warm, like a secret, and his cheek is on mine, and he's trying to get my attention-

"Harley- you have to stop hurting yourself. Only I can do that. I have to go now" And he kisses me on the head and walks out.

 

And he's touched a rarely played string-

 

Lucius- that day.

_Oh you won't die. Only I can ever do that, baby._

And then he'd started cutting me.

 

I lean over the side of the table, and that voice, the one *you know you want to shoot up* is whispering in my ears and I can't do anything but vomit a stream of hot acid into the wastepaper basket. It takes me less than three minutes to make it to my office, and once I've locked the door -safe- and my gut is clenched with fear and nausea, and clasp my hands over my ears and a keening sound falls out my mouth like water from a running tap.

 

* * *

 

 It's half 6, and I'm sitting downstairs in the bar, trying to pretend I'm not waiting- working, anything.

The mood is already frenetic, surprisingly early- and the music's pumping over the system.

 

**Cosmopolitans and ladies, looking for pills and draperies**

**Famous, don't you wish you were weightless**

**famous from this moment you're faded**

**Makes quite a morning cocktail of insecurity**

**a fallen pancake breakfast for two**

**the ladies choice of partner changes from evening to evening**

**the loneliness is expected, if not predicted**

 

I signal to Johnny to bring me a Jack and coke- it's been a hell of a day. Corralling these fucking people into doing what you need them to is hard when you can't just point a machine gun at the problem. Quite honestly, I'm itching to hurt someone. But I'm not going to. I'm not an animal. I'm rubbing the bridge of my nose when Johnny brings the drink, and he says "oh oh. Here's trouble."

And she's at the edge of my dancefloor, wearing something black and barely there, dancing with a pretty brunette. And by dancing, I really mean dazzling the poor girl, and any second now she could put her hands up her skirt, and the brunette would let her, too. And then she's kissing her, and I'm going to beat the shit out of her. I down the drink and slam it down, and I'm crossing the floor, and grabbing her by the shoulder- she's already slick with sweat and she turns and her eyes are so fucking black I'm amazed she's standing.

The needle marks on her arm are red and shining. She only flicks her hair and says "what? Don't like what you see, Daddy?" and then she wraps her arms round the brunette and sticks her tongue in her mouth, putting her other hand up the girls skirt- and _That's enough, Harley. If you've a point to make, come and make it._ The brunette has realized she's in the middle of something, and when Harley turns towards me, she slips away.

 “What are you going to do about it, Joker? **Hurt me**?” And the edge in her voice is hard, angry. “I was just fine before you”- and she waves a hand at me. She goes to turn back to the brunette, and of course she's gone, and she laughs and says “You stole my lunch. Now leave me the fuck **alone**.”

Jesus fucking Christ. I pick her up and sling her over my shoulder, and take the fastest path out- down into the storerooms. One is a study, and that's where I'm headed. She's hitting me on the back, but she's too fucked to make much of an impact. I dump her into one of the two leather chairs and pour myself a drink. _Explain. Use your words._ And she starts laughing and I think she might be madder than me and she slips over and takes my drink and sips it, then kisses me and puts my hand on the inside of her thigh- but the texture is strange, and when I lift the tiny skirt she's sliced herself all the way up and it's a crusted mess. But she's grinning seductively at me and saying "Don't you like it Daddy? I made it for you- and she leans closer until she can whisper in my ear- "I know what it is inside and really you just want to fuck something up. Congratulations, Mister, you found me. I'm an open fucking wound."

 And the worst part is that it's arousing, and she's right and I want to do it despite myself. Instead I pour another drink and stay perfectly still, staring at her.  And she giggles and turns and walks, sucking down the rest of the drink as she goes, to the pool table and leans over it and whines "C'mon. You know you want to. They always do. You reminded me of that today. Lucius said he was the only one that could hurt me too. You're both wrong"- and the gulp of a breath is almost a sob.

 Oh Fuck. This is a mess I might struggle to clean up. "C'mon. Come and playyy with me." And she's giggling again. And quickly, I cross the room and pin her down, arms around her, face in her neck.

_I think you want that because it's easier, Harley girl._

"No-"

 _Shhh. I think you want it because it's easier. Because if I do, you won't feel it on the inside. Because you fucked yourself up and you can *still* feel it. Well, pretty baby if you don't like the way that I touch you- I won't touch you like that._ And I keep one hand steady on her back, and bend down and kiss the cuts, slowly, and softly, and it's only when I start to lick them that she sobs, big, frightening sobs- the kind only children and crazy people make- I've heard the sound so many nights over in the asylum.

And she can't seem to control it, and I press my advantage, and kiss harder, and she switches tacks, suddenly. "What? Kiss a girl that can't even last a day. Forgotten how to fuck someone up? You're getting old, J. Losing your touch. No-one told me. It's a shame, it coulda been great." And she tries to get away, twisting away from me. But I'm stronger than she is, and I don't let her move an inch.

 _I haven't lost anything sweetpea. But if you want to make me hit you- well you're going to have to ask me for it. And I back up-_ hands out _-_ and sit back in my chair. _Get up, get down on your knees, **look at me** and ask me to hurt you. Come on_\- and my voice is thick and I know, then, that I want her to. _Be_ _specific_. And she walks to the door, and stands there. And I want to laugh. And then she turns around and races towards me, and falls to her knees, beautiful blonde head in my lap and says, voice heavier than lead- "I want you to beat me bloody. Please."

 _No. Look at me._ And she lifts her head and dead eyed "I said I want you to beat me bloody. Please."

_Please What?_

"Please Daddy."

 _Fine. But there are no happy endings here, Princess._ _Take off your dress and and lay over the table._ And I'm so angry, she's really going to feel it this time. And that other bit of me whispers in my head- are you going to fix her, or kill her? I haven't used in months, but I take some coke out of the desk drawer and snort enough of it her bare ass  that I can't hear it anymore and she shivers, and I stick a straw in her nose and say _Breathe_ _in_ , _sweetheart_. _You'll_ _need_ _it_ she fights me, and I have to hold her jaw closed. _Baby, if you wanted out you’re too fucking late._

And I turn up the music-

 

**What do you think of me, are you quite proud of this make believe**

**curtain that hangs around everything you can admire in that girl**

**she's so damned beautiful**

**You see me-**

 

and I break a pool cue into a useable length, and roll up my sleeves.

and the first hit, she moans.

The next, she cries out.

On the third, she screams.

On the fourth I have to hold her down.

And on the fifth, I stop thinking about it.

 

By the time I'm done, she's fallen into silence. And then I sit in my chair and _come on babygirl. Come and show daddy how good it was._

And I watch her crawl over to me, tears tracked down her face like needle marks, and I pull her upright and lick them and I’m even harder. And I sit back and hiss at her _Was that what you wanted? Are you happy now?_ And when she doesn’t answer quickly enough, I lean forward and land a hard smack on the side of her face, and it almost, but not quite, knocks her over. “It was exactly what I wanted. Just hit me harder next time” and I hate her for it. _Come on then Harley girl- Show me how much you liked it._

And she undoes me with trembling hands, and I lay a line out on my leg and and this time she doesn’t fight me. _Oh you’re so.. good._ And then I force her head down and make her service me, and dip my cigarette into the coke and light it. And then I let my hands wander- if she wants to be a piece of meat she can feel what that is. Then I lean down and touch her pussy, forcing myself down her throat as I do it. My hand comes back wet, and it’s like being lit on fire- _well, baby, you really are the filthy slut you think you are_ , and reaching out I slap her across the face and leave a streak of moisture, and laugh. And the tears are falling, and it’s so satisfying I dig my hands into her hair and make her work harder, and lean back and I can’t help but groan.

 _You know, babygirl- I think you were born to be my cunt. And I’m going to do this over, and over and over again until you can’t imagine anything different- and you’re going to thank me and I’ll twist you, baby. If you want me to- I’m gonna hurt you really, really_ _bad_ \- and she groans, wet mouth around my cock and I know, then, that she’s been waiting for it all along.

 _Come on baby_ and I yank her up, not gently, and lean her over the back of my chair, and then I run my hands up her thighs, and knuckle my hands into the mess I just made of her ass- leaning in at the same moment and licking the cuts on her thighs, and then I swipe my tongue over her pussy and she’s so wet and I want to groan. I stand up again and shove my dick in her and- _baby- if you do this to yourself again I’m gonna be real mad. I want to cut you up- that’s fine, you’ll take it- but do it to yourself, and I’m gonna do this_ ”- and I spread her legs and hold her inner thighs tightly, and then knuckle my rings into the cuts and she’s groaning. _Shutup little girl- now are you gonna be good_?

"Yes. Yes I promise, daddy"

And then I fuck her until she screams, and it’s not till later that I see my jewelry left bruises on top of the cuts. But for now- _be a good little whore and help me come, would you?_ and the mad sobs come again.

And it's all so fucking **sad** I could weep.

 

And later, still, when she curls up in my arms, and says "Thankyou"- I wonder, not for the first time, if there's no fixing anything, and it's all just cruelty by degrees. I don't even know if I'm the lesser evil. Because like pleasure- pain is addictive, and eventually you can't live without it. What will that become, when what I just did to her isn't enough? And I'm thinking it through every minute- especially as I dose her on that shit she can't last a day without.

 

And instead, it feels good to snort some more coke. Because I could fuck her up for a lifetime. And then we lie there, and

 

**Can't put my finger on it**

**But I know I want it**

**I'm willing to try another way**

**That's if I survive another day**

**And I'll try tonight**

**Just try tonight**

**Happy as the moonshine sifting in the nighttime**

**Cliches find a home inside of him**

**when he enters all of the lights go dim**

**he's so sure he's got a tragic lifestyle**

**and I'm sure I can't make that man smile**

 

spills out of the speakers upstairs, and she tucks a hand on my chest, and it hurts so badly I just pull her closer and see her blood crusted on my hands, and we lie there- jagged as broken glass.

You **see** \- people don’t go mad from one seminal moment. They go mad by _**degrees-** onesecond at a time._

 

* * *

* * *

 


	14. Strangers In The Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title courtesy of my beta, letmeloveyou who is a wonderful writer in her own right. You should check it out.  
> http://www.fanfiktion.de/u/letmeloveyou
> 
> Notes on the Chapter-  
> Ok, so I'm really messing with continuity at this point. I know Commissioner Gordon is traditionally an ally of Batman, but that doesn't work for my "Watcher" figures theory. I also know that in the New 52 he never married Sarah- but I figure if they can change universe continuities I can too. To me he still sounds like Gordon, I hope he does for you too. I am also aware that in one continuity, The Joker kills her, and... well I don't give a fuck. So there.
> 
> And yes, I stole Gordon's quote from John Green.
> 
> I really enjoy playing with moral ambiguity, and I am somewhat returning Harley Quinn to where I like her- as a woman who made a choice, and not one who is lacking in brainpower. I know the relationship between Harley and Joker is abusive, and it *fucking* is, but I want it to be about more than that, too. I am personally of the opinion we can be many things at once, and I want the people you meet here to be complex and well realized- they live, they love, and they die, and they are more than just *one* thing. 
> 
> I am also toying with the idea that if these- metahumans, or the sort of semi super natural people in this world have no guaranteed point of death- it makes them think differently, layered underneath the fact that they're all crazy, just to different degrees- Nolan applies here, really. "You either die a hero, or live long enough to see yourself become the villain".  
> I also do not want the story to be only Harley and Joker's view of themselves- they're unreliable- you'll notice their opinions of the people around them change, depending on how good of a day it is- that's intentional.
> 
> Songs for the Chapter, both directly referenced and chapter inspo:  
> Pharrells's Happy  
> Uptown Funk ft Bruno Mars  
> Playground Love, by Air  
> Diamonds Are A Girl's Best Friend, Moulin Rouge Version  
> Because we (Can) Moulin Rouge Version  
> Diamond Dogs by Beck  
> Napalm Love, by Air  
> Do The Twist Chubby Checker
> 
> Do enjoy- you had a pretty punishing chapter in the last- I'm hoping the start of this one has you sobbing in your damned tea.  
> Enjoy!

 

* * *

 

“Just tell me how to be different in a way that makes sense.”  
― Stephen Chbosky, The Perks of Being A Wallflower

* * *

 

You know, when I was a little girl, I had a jewelry box.

It was one of those kitschy ones that had a ballerina on the top, and thinking back on it, it was a piece of shit.

One of the legs was broken, and the music box just played. It was a cheap promotional one that came out for Requiem for a Dream, and I remember sitting at the window, winding it over and over again to listen. I think it wasn't long before my parents died. And it's stupid, and irrational, but I want that music box now. The desire for it wakes me up. And for once I'm kind of feeling ok and stretching my limbs proves some residual pain, but nothing completely unmanageable. It's also the weirdest fucking thing, because I rarely, if ever think about that time. But I'm going out today- I know all the vintage stores in Gotham, and I'm going to find another one. I don't even really know why I want it, I just do.

I stumble my way to the bathroom, and clean myself up. Teeth cleaned and hair elasticed and in braids, I raid J's wardrobe again- hopefully with impunity- and roll up the sleeves of one of his shirts, nicking a pair of socks- which might I add- have the bat symbol on them, which is really too good- I sneak downstairs in search of the kitchen. He must have brought us up in the night, because I don't remember it. In the daylight the bar is warm, and I poke my head out, and Johnny's sitting, reading the paper. He's also drinking (ugh) shitty chain starbucks.

  _Johnny_ -

 "Morning dollface" and instead of being irritated, it makes me grin. "Want some coffee?"

  _Not dreck like that- hey Johnny- where's the kitchen?_

 And he looks pretty startled. "3rd door on the left, but there's not a lot in it. We don't really-"

  _Well, there's pancake mix and eggs and milk, right? I mean it's not empty, is it? I'm hungry._

 And I head for it, and Johnny follows along like a man sentenced to prison. It's modern and large, but... I'm pretty sure no-one's ever cooked in it. There are top of the line pots and pans hanging from the ceiling, and the stove is commercial grade nice. I turn around and raise my eyebrows and _Johnny, you never eat here?_

 "Well, the boss isn't really an early morning person, and I don't really cook, so... we usually just get lunch."

  _Oh_. I'm a little concerned that there's nothing here to eat, but my concerns prove unfounded. The fridge is pretty well stocked, and the pantry proves to have both muffin mix and flour. I'll do the muffins first. And I turn on the preheat settings, and hunt around in the freezer. No blueberries, but raspberries will do. It takes me 10 minutes to mix a batch, and Johnny just kind of sits there staring at me like he's never seen anyone cook before. It's annoying me, so I turn the ipod dock on to Crazy in Love and it's just about right. _Christ Johnny, stop fuckin staring at me, ok? It's just food._

 "Sorry. I haven't watched anyone make muffins since my wife died. Ten years ago now. Cancer."

  _Oh. I'm sorry Johnny._ And because I'm not sure if sympathy is even wanted- _How d'you like your eggs?_

 "Scrambled. He likes omelette."

 I _thought you said he doesn't eat breakfast_ , I tease.

 "Well, if he doesn't, Dollface, you didn't tire him out last night" and a laugh bursts out of me, and it's a good morning. I keep going, batching out pancakes, then mixing a couple batches of eggs, and and frying the cakes. I'll put the eggs on last. Johnny's watching like I've grown a second head, so I ignore him and as Uptown Funk comes on, I just cook and jiggle my feet- I could dance but it's weird enough as it is.

 

* * *

 

Ugh. I groan myself out of bed- the strains of something ridiculous are floating up from the ground floor- Pharrell’s Happy. It's got to be her- and I didn't think she would be. I thought she was going to leave. It's got to be- no-one else would be playing something like that. And I feel... protective. The music switches over to Uptown Funk, and I grin. Time for a shower. For once I'm not inclined to linger, and I take my pills and dry off. Today's going to be busy- I've called a meet. Eddie's going to host. Not to mention my less pleasant meeting first. I pull out a pinstriped three piece, and a white shirt. 5 minutes later I've slicked back my hair and I'm heading downstairs. They're not in the bar, but I can follow the... smells... of eggs? and bread? And if I couldn't- the most ridiculous music is pumping down the hall.

 

**If you can't hear, what I'm tryna say**

**If you can't read, from the same page**

**Maybe I'm going deaf**

**Maybe I'm going blind**

**Maybe I'm out of my mind**

**OK, now he was close**

**Tried to domesticate you**

**But you're an animal**

**Baby, it's in your nature**

**Just let me liberate you**

**You don't need no papers**

**That man is not your mate**

**And that's why I'm gon' take you**

**Good girl!**

**I know you want it**

**I know you want it**

**I know you want it**

 

and walk into the most ridiculous scene I've ever had happen in my vicinity. Johnny's guns are on the counter, and he's standing next to her, and they're _dancing_. “And then you shake your shoulders like this”, she's saying, and the big oaf is trying to copy what she's doing- which looks great when she does it. He looks like an idiot. She's.. adorable though. She's shaking her hips, standing in the sun, golden hair caught up in pigtail braids... and wearing my socks. And she's lifting her knees and saying "No, Johnny, you have to lift at the hip" and she lifts her leg and I can see the cuts and for a second my heart is caught- and I wonder who she'd be if she'd had normal. And I wish, in that second, wish I could give it to her. It's always the things we can't have that are the deepest desires of our hearts, isn’t it? And she's getting him to spin, and I take the moment to slip in and slide into a chair. I also steal a muffin from the tray, and it's delicious. And then she's clicking her fingers "and 3, 2, 1." she says, and they do a spin jump, and Johnny's so uncoordinated he almost loses his balance.

  _What have we got here?_ I say, and she bursts into a cascade of giggles as Johnny's face turns redder than a tomato. He busies himself getting his holster back on and _great security you are_ and she's laughing harder and I'm grinning at them both and _These muffins are delicious, thankyou_ and it's all so unlikely. When she recovers enough she says “breakfast is ready- I made you an omelet”.

 And something occurs to me. _I can see that- but I haven't had my turn._

 “What?”

  _I didn't get my dance, sweetheart._ I can't give her normal- not even close- but I can give her this. And before she can say no I'm up from my chair, choosing a track, and stealing an orchid from our solitary plant and as I do it, I'm thinking, don't fuck this up.

 

* * *

 

And then he crosses to the stereo, handsome and imposing in his way, and in the light- he could be normal. The three piece suit is expertly made, and really only the rings on his hands look out of place. He picks a track and crosses over to me and says “ _would you dance with me_?”

 

And I can't do anything but smile at him, and I hold out my hands and he lifts me to my feet and tucks an orchid over my ear (the single one from the clearly neglected plant on the sill) and then he pulls me close until I'm almost standing on his shoes, and the opening bars stream out and he's saying quietly- " _you know I never went to prom. I don't think you did either"_ \- and the singer cuts in and-

 

**I'm a high school lover,**

**And you're my favorite flavor**

**Love is all, all my soul**

**You're my playground love**

 

and we spin slowly in a circle, and rest my head on his chest, and I can feel his heartbeat against my ear, and I want to laugh and cry all at once. So instead I just hold onto the moment- and squeeze his hands tighter. And he squeezes back.

 

* * *

 

**Yet my hands are shaking**

**I feel my body remains,**

**Themes no matter, I'm on fire**

**On the playground, love**

 

And I'm sitting at the kitchen bar, watching them turn a slow circle in the sunlight- and they're like two kids in school, and I wish, wish that they were. He's looking straight ahead like an embarrassed 17 year old, but still smiling, and she's got her feet in those ridiculous stolen socks between his and they're holding hands until he shifts her head onto his chest.

 

**You're the piece of gold,**

**The flushes all my soul**

**Extra time, on the ground**

**You're my playground love**

 

And he tucks an arm around her back and lifts her up, until her face is in his neck, and says “hmm?” because she's obviously said something, even if I don't catch it, and she whispers in his ear and he laughs, and then rather than putting her down, just tucks her up and spins around. And the illusion is so **real** , so tangible, I could almost imagine a different life altogether. The sun is shining on the gold in her hair, and on his, acid green, and it reminds me of when I fell in love with Janie, because I'm pretty sure I looked at her like that, and I wish we could keep it- but the moment's going ta vanish, like... like castles in the air.

 

So instead I just sit and watch them, appreciating it for what it is.

 

* * *

 

**You're the piece of gold the flashes on my soul.**

**Extra time, on the ground.**

**You're my playground love.**

 

 And I stay there, hand in his, head tucked into his neck, and we spin slowly, and the moment is a shiny, tangible thing- crossing the distance between us, and cutting through every bit of wrong, and leaving nothing else but a girl, dancing with a boy, and I know that I'll remember this moment for the rest of my life, however short it might be. And I can't help but be saddened- I wish I'd have to chance to tell the story to a little granddaughter and say _"See- beautiful things really do happen."_

 

**Anytime, anywhere,**

**You're my playground love.**

 

And the final bars are here, and I don't really want to let go. And he spins me in one last circle, and- you know that moment in all those romantic movies, where the hero gets the girl? He puts me down, and leans me backward, careful not to touch my bottom half, and kisses me, sweetly and softly, and maybe, even without regret. And I wish that I could stay in this moment forever, fall asleep in it, something shiny in an otherwise unsterling life.

 Then he sets me back on my feet and strides back to his seat, and the moment is lost. But I think I've caught what matters- a little bit of shine, and I tuck it safely away- just another secret I can't share.

 

* * *

 

And then- then guys- he kisses her, like in Wuthering Heights or The Count of Monte Christo. And I hide my smile behind my coffee cup, and he sets her down and takes his chair again, and I've worked for him 25 years and I'll remember that. He starts eatin', and she sits, like a girl lost in a dream, and he says "So what are you doing today?" and she smiles at him and says- “I want to go and buy a jewelry box, as it's Saturday”- and she hesitates- “is that alright?”

 He coughs a bit, and looks to me- “Johnny, go with her, please, and bring her back when you're done. Maybe go get some of her things. By two, yes?” And that's when I really know. He's going to fight for her. He'll fight until the bloody, bitter end, until there's nothing else left. And then when she's gone, he'll lose it then. But for now- for now, he's going to try and _save_ her.

And the guy in me who fell in love with my wife at 17 wants to pump my fist, and Johnny Frost, mercenary, thinks- Christ- we're all fucked for this bit of stupidity. Thing is though- I don't even think he's thought it through. The last time he had one of these times, I don't even think he thought about it first. I think he just did. It also means this period of relative peace- it won't last much longer.

 

* * *

 

My office looks out over Gotham these days- and I stand at the window, looking out as the day here begins. I can't help but think of the days when my office was next to the Morgue, and in a twisted way, I kind of miss the awful coffee that used to sit there for hours and hours, and the feeling that I'd one day have the power to really change things. But the truth is, sitting at the top is really just being a Guardian. You can't make the changes you wish you could, because the system is interlinked. Change one thing and you might bring it all crashing down.

 

I thought Harvey Dent would be the solution to that, and I remember how he was when he was young and fresh faced and idealistic, in the times when the things the Batman did made more sense. We thought we could fix it all, and then he lost the girl and half his face and it was over. These days he slinks around Gotham causing mild chaos and occasionally taking second chair on a case, right up until he can't stand the staring anymore. And then he loses it and slinks back to Eddies, and every now and then I funnel some of my salary into his account. He probably doesn't need it, but I've never really shaken the guilt. I feel old. But I can't quit. The man they're spruiking as my replacement is a brute- just the kind Gotham doesn't need. None of them understand why my appointment is so secure- he's been trying for a full year to get the backing he needs to take my place. He can't do it, and some of the reason why is paying me a visit very shortly. I know every criminal in Gotham, and some of them are even my friends. I wouldn't say he's a friend, but we respect each other. You see, I recognize that everyone has their reasons, and not all of them can be parsed or managed by the Law. We couldn't manage it if we tried.

 

He's requested this meeting, which is unusual. He doesn't do it very often- which is a good thing. He never abuses my resources, and I appreciate that. Once a year he sends me a case of something, and I send him a snowglobe from wherever it is I visited, and the rest of the time we rarely interact unless we need each other.

 

"Steph! Get a coffee pot would you, and some of the chocolate biscuits."

She grumbles at me but does as I ask, slamming down the phone a little harder than necessary. Five minutes after I've sent her off, a knock sounds at the door- he's always a little early, and to be honest I don't know how he gets into the building. He never passes by the cameras, and I know, I've checked. Tried changing the guard staff too, just in case that was the problem. I didn't enquire too hard after that. " _Come in_."

 

He slips in the door, carrying a briefcase, a Tim Burton version of a Wall Street Banker- to be honest I always admired his wardrobe- you can't say the man lacks flair- and takes a seat before I offer, which is unusual. I don't think it's an insult, though. He seems distracted, and it strikes me it might not be one of his better days.

“Gordon- how are you?” The niceties are still there, which means he isn't at his worst. The worst I've ever seen him, he killed twenty people in a blind rage, biting the last mans ear off and had blood all over his face, and when we went and got him he laughed that eerie laugh and his eyes were wild.

  _Well enough, Joker. Trying to keep the Wolves from the door, you know._

 "Ah- Bruno causing you trouble?"

  _Not a thing happens here without you knowing about it, does it?_

 He shrugs a gentle shrug, and smiles wryly. "Not really. If it's useful to you to know, the- ah companion he sees says his cocktail of blood pressure medications have been joined by a few new things of late. Shame he just can't stop eating, isn't it? Gluttony" and he clicks his tongue between his teeth, grinning at me. "I think he may be running short of time, unless he makes changes, which really would surprise me."

 Ah. He definitely wants something. _Think I can retire in the next couple of years then?_

 He laughs, then, and it's not scary but slightly mocking. "Ah now. We Watchers never really stop watching, do we? You couldn't if you tried, you're you. You'll do the job until you're unable, we both know that." He seems to realize he's been too truthful, and he offers up "But I'm glad of it. Your predecessor was a pain in the ass." He's definitely a little off. When he's at his best he's never cruel without reason. Shame he's right.

 We're interrupted by Steph coming in with the coffee, and she almost upsets the tray when she realizes who's sitting in the other chair. As it is, the tray is shaking when she puts it down. "It's alright, sweetheart, I don't mean to harm anyone."

  _You can go Steph. Thanks_. And I pour the coffee and offer him some biscuits- he usually takes both.

 "Thank you, but I'm not hungry. Just the coffee, for now." I must look surprised, because he shifts slightly uncomfortably in his chair. "A.. friend made breakfast this morning."

  _Ah. A girl. Good to hear, Joker_. And if I'd known better I wouldn't have said anything.

 "No. I'm- a friend. I think. I'm not sure." And I can't help but be surprised, and I try to hide it behind my coffee cup, but he obviously notices because he says "She's irritating. And funny. And fucking crazy. And a bit wrong. And she's part of the reason I'm sitting here" and he runs his hand through his hair. He's frowning, frustrated.

  _Ah. It was a bit like that when I fell in love with Sarah. Just had our 30 year anniversary. I think sometimes it's like that, and you don't really know how much they matter till they do_. And I shutup there and eat my biscuit, because he's looking at me like I've poured water on his head, and if we were better friends I'd laugh. I wonder if it's the little blonde I saw at the Asylum the other day? I'm sure I know her, but... I make a mental note to make an enquiry or two, and let it go. I sip my coffee and wait, and after a few more moments he shakes his head and sips his too.

  _Joker_ -

 "Oh. Yes." He shakes his head, as if clearing it, and says "ready to talk business?"

 This time I do laugh, and say _Haven't we already? But go ahead- what can I do for you_?

 "Pam Isley-"

  _Ivy, you mean? Yeah. Passed across my desk yesterday. I remember when they'd bring her in back in the day. She was always trying to get me to unlock the cage, offering me a kiss. Never worked. She's in real trouble this time, though._

 "Yes. She means to die." And he looks straight at me, no hesitation this time. "That's... inconvenient at present." I want to laugh again- he sounds like Cary Grant or something, and it's also because I'm shocked. She's been raising hell since I was a rookie. The first time they brought her in during my time, she was wearing this devastating red dress and half the force couldn't be trusted, and I remember she ended up being handled by Becka, the butchest lesbian ever to look at you.

  _Well. What do you want me to do_? I say. No point in prevaricating.

 "Bail. One of my men's been calling for days and no dollar figure."

  _That I can help with. Hold on._ And I make a call and have a figure in two minutes. _200k. Seems she's been raising hell for so long, no-one thinks she's a flight risk._

He seems startled. "But Gordon- where would she go?" And I see his point. He dumps the briefcase on my desk. "That should cover it. I trust you'll see it to the relevant people. I'd deliver it myself, but they'd probably run away before I could hand it over" and he's grinning at me again. "She's got Nero. Anything you can do about that? He'll give her death, and I'd really rather he didn't." The unspoken implication is that he'll give Nero death if he has to. To be honest, Nero's a hardass with boundary issues and a penchant for delivering rulings like it's all black and white, and we hate each other- I fought against his appointment, and he's never forgotten it.

  _No. Not personally, but I'll see what I can do through other people. If there's something, I'll call Johnny, shall I? Still the same number_? and he nods.

 "Until next time, Gordon. Hopefully it won't be for a while. And as always, call me if you need to." I never have and I never will, and he knows it. As a result, he rarely causes me any real trouble unless he's having one of the bad periods- basically out of his head.

 He turns and heads for the door, and pauses.

"Do you still love her?" he asks. "How did you know?"

  _Yes. I'm not sure she'll love me much longer though. She wants to leave Gotham_.

And he's completely sincere when he says, "I'm sorry, Gordon." And it prompts me to say _I knew- I knew because one day I woke up and I couldn't imagine what things would be like without her. I fell in love the way you fall asleep- slowly, and then all at once._ And he nods at me, and goes to slip out.

  _Sure you wanna leave this with me_? I say, tapping the briefcase.

 And this time he does laugh, and he says- "Gordon, you still tip your coffee girl every morning, and you paid for your neice's education even though you mortgaged your house to do it. You're too honest for your own good." And then he's gone.

 It's not till that evening, when I get home and Sarah throws her arms round my neck like we're 21 again, and thanks me for the bracelet I never bought, flowers I never ordered in the hall, that I sit there thinking about the many kindnesses in him. I hope it works out with the girl. She'd have to be pretty different. Pretty fucked up for a killing gangster, isn't it?

 

* * *

 

If we go into one more knicknacky shitty shop for this bloody trinket jewel box I'm gonna smack her.

She's made me tromp through eight different dodgy ass second hand stores looking for this particular box from a particular limited release time and even she admits the quality was totally shitty. This is getting ridiculous, and we're heading up on two, as well. It's hot today, and I'm sweating on my guns for godsake. But I asked her why it mattered and offered to buy her any box in any store in town, and she looked at me like she was gonna cry, or hit me. Neither are good. She stomps out of the last place and heads toward the next one two doors down and I have to hurry up to catch up. For fucks sake.

My phone rings, and it's the Boss.

 "Where are you?" he asks.

  _Only the 9th shitty knick knack shop in a row. If we don't find this damned box soon, you're never gonna see her again, because I'll strangle her and hide the body._ And he laughs on the other end, a full bellied laugh of amusement.

 "Hot out, is it?" he says.

  _Boss, with all due respect- fuck you_. And he laughs again.

 "What is it she wants, exactly?"

  _This shitty jewelry box that has a ballerina on it. Plays requiem for a dream or some such shit I don't know._

 "Hmm. Bring her back to Eddie's now please." and the prick hangs up.

 I head into the store, where she's fused fit to bust. Come on trouble _. It's nearly two. We gotta go._

 "But-"

  _Nope. Bossman called. We gotta go_. And she stomps back to the car, pissy as hell. Breakfast or no, she can be a giant pain in the ass.

 

* * *

 

 

I'm still laughing when I hang up on Johnny and dial Kitty. Poor Bastard. I almost feel bad for him. She picks up on the second ring and says, "What? I'm leaving now" which already means she'll be twenty minutes late. _No, it's not that. Got any jewelry boxes in your stash? Anything with a ballerina on it?_

 "Why?" and she's suddenly interested.

  _Never you mind. Have you got one?_

 "It's for that girl, isn't it?" and she laughs.

  _It's not my idea. Poor Johnny has been outside sweating all morning. He'll probably buy you an iced coffee or something._ and she laughs and says "I'll go and have a look. But when I'm late it's your fault. Stay on the line." I hear the sounds of lots of rummaging, and she says "what era and pricepoint?"

 I'm laughing, again. _You can't have more than one_.

 "Course I do. There was a while there where everyone had one, and they were all sitting on tables, right for the picking. Actually, you know I have a really nice one. It'll cost you though." she says, snickering.

  _Why? What are you going to do with it, woman?_

"Well, stare at it for starters. The owner was the wife of that bizarre oligarch that moved in in 1995. Remember? The really asshole one that was really fat? It's got stones all over it, and the ballerinas legs move. I really enjoyed nicking that. Took off with a tiara and choker set, too. Sold it for piles."

  _How much?_ and I'm sighing at her.

 "I want to meet the face that launched a thousand ships, otherwise known as the giftee properly. Oh and for the next 3 months your cut will be...down to 5." she says, clearly laughing at me.

  _First- done. and 7._

 "6"

  _7, Kitty. What the fuck are you going to do with a jewelry box from 1995?_

 

"Fine. Prick." And she hangs up. And I think I've laughed more today than in the longest time.

 

* * *

 

 

I tuck the wrapped box into my bag, and I've put some very lovely earrings in it. He overpaid, which is fine by me.

And it strikes me, standing in the hall of my piece of Gotham, how much faster you forget, and how much more quickly you let it go when you don't have an expiration date, and you've known more than half your friends for more than 40 years. Because if you held a grudge for too long (note I didn't say forgive) you'd have no-one to talk to. Or talk about.

I'm interested to see what all this is about- it's been a while since he's held a meet, let alone two in a few days.

 It takes me 25 minutes to get to Eddie's, and the carpark is full, so I pull up on the curb in front of the bar and park- no-one's going to do anything about it. I slip in, and I think everyone's already here- Eddie, Scarecrow, Joker, Dent- but Johnny's missing, and she's not in evidence. The bar is pretty much packed up, and there's just one table setup, and if people knew that we- the arbiters of Gotham's vice- sit and drink tea when we're planning, they'd probably be amused. Or disappointed. We all, to some degree, present a front to the world, designed to holdup an illusion.

 

Pam: Maneater and Poisoner (although she's in the lockup)

Joker: Pimp and Druglord and Killer

Me: City's Madam, and Blackmailer and Thief

Scarecrow: Crazy bastard (he always has a reason)

Eddie: Hacker and Bounty Hunter

Johnny: Hired Gun

Dent: Utter crazy bastard. Though in his case it's true. I'm not sure why he's here.

 

And all the rest do the same. When really we shit-talk and do idiot things and still have birthday cake (although not in Joker's case- he's never admitted to his birth date, and I'm not sure if he knows or not). Friends, whether we like it or not, and every so often in opposition. I take the second last seat, and Eddie's telling a stupid story about someone who tried to hire him, and it being Eddie it's hilarious. Something about someone trying to hire him to hack a company's network and it turned out they didn't have computers. "And I said to them- what the fuck did you expect me to hack? Paper?" I go to pour some tea, and Eddie stops "Hang on Kitty, I've got your mint." And he grabs me another pot from behind the bar.

  _Who are we waiting on?_ I ask in the interim, and J looks up and says- "Three more. One should be delivered in a second. Did you bring the spare kit? She's gonna be pissed. This fucking place- everyone's always late."

 And true to his word, after 5 more minutes of gossip, Pam strides in angrier than a Pomeranian on high, skin darkly green- if this were a comic sparks would be flying from her hair. "You fucking interfering bastard Joker. I was just fine where I was" and she slams a fist down on the table and is almost nose to nose with him. I'm expecting him to give her a slice, but he just... laughs. And then laughs some more until he's shaking with it, and when he calms down enough says "Oh sit the fuck down, Pam. Cost me 200k to get you out and a promise to be responsible for you. I need your help and if you wanna go and hang yourself off the side of the GCPD AFTER this, be my guest. You owe me anyway. Kitty, got those clothes?"

I hand over a pack out of my bag, and he says "Now go wash the Asylum soap off you and put on some real clothes". She's fuming, but she obviously does owe him a turn, because she takes the clothes and stalks off. Pam's just come back out and poured some tea, glaring at him as if she could light him on fire, she throws herself into the last seat.

 The bar door bangs open and The Harlequin comes in, but in the daylight she's smaller than I thought she was, tiny in a pink top and dark jeans, hair piled in a bun on her head and a wide ribbon holding it in place. She adjusts to the light and "Pam!" and she makes a beeline for her, and wraps her arms around her, and moreover, Pam hugs her back. And Joker's just sitting there, legs up on the table, looking fucking smug, the big jerk. Interesting. The other issue with all your friends being your friends, is everyone's slept with everyone else at some point, and I recognize the look. Not that I'm judging you understand, I mean even me and Pam had a brief fling about 20 years ago. Rumor is that Eddie and Scarecrow even have the occasional fuck, though god knows I don't understand the attraction, and I don't think anyone's brave enough to properly verify.

 Basically, it's his "I'm a fucking Lord" look and I'd want to laugh if I wasn't so curious. Well, he didn't kill her after the other night, so obviously she's doing alright. Bearing in mind that's an entirely possible outcome, of course. She finishes greeting Pam, and "Hello Harlequin. How are you?" I say. "Doing alright thanks, Kitty." She's remembered my name, and I'm slightly impressed.

"You can just call me Harleen, you know-b but- I hope you don't mind me asking- they sometimes call you Catwoman, why is that?" Well that was direct. But her interest is sincere, and before I've opened my mouth, Joker cuts in and says "Because she's the best thief in Gotham. And, you know- Kitty Cat." She smiles and says, "It's lovely to meet you properly" and considering he interrupted, I stand up and kiss her on the cheeks, and say "Good to meet you too.  Properly I mean" and she smiles and greets the others and "Hey Eddie" and then she looks around and seeing no seats, walks over to him, and sits down in his lap like it happens every day.

He adjusts his legs slightly, but otherwise doesn't react, and obviously we're all gaping like fuckwits, because he's starting to frown when the bar door opens yet again. Johnny bursts in, sweating like the devil and swearing, carrying a couple of duffel bags, and considering the moment before, it's only seconds until Eddie starts to laugh, and it's like setting off a bomb, and we're all laughing- and Johnny dumps the bags down and says "Oh fuck the lot of you" and stomps off to the bathroom, and we only lose it harder. But he's just smiling, and it's even fucking weirder. Usually, when he's smiling at you, you're three seconds from losing a limb.

 

* * *

 

 I honestly don't know why I did it. I suppose I just wanted to see if I could. It's been the strangest of days- I should feel like shit, but I'm feeling pretty good, for once. They all stared at us, and I was about three seconds from kissing him, putting on a show, when Johnny bursts in and saves the day. And they're all laughing, and if I told the rest of Gotham that its baddest men and women sit and drink tea and chat like normal people, they'd probably commit me instead. And he takes the moment to lean into my ear and say "What was that" and instead of answering I just shrug, and I can feel the vibrations as he laughs quietly, and it's nice. And after spending such a long time to get here, I should be questioning everything, but instead I just want to stay. The table is full of utter misfits- Pam's green as a vine, and Kitty is this laughing thief and Eddie's bar is even seedier in the daylight, but the only one who makes me nervous is Scarecrow, and Eddie's sitting next to him, hand on his shoulder and it doesn't seem like anything bad will happen. Even Dent is sitting quietly and it doesn't seem like one of his bad days, because I looked at him on the introductions and he nodded and smiled, and it should have seemed grotesque but instead it was just warm.

 He shifts me sideways on his lap and hooks a hand round my waist, and clears his throat and says, "So shall we get started? I don't have all day"- and they all settle in, even Johnny pulling up a chair. And he leans forward, looking at them all and says "How would you like to help me catch a killer of women and children?" And I settle more heavily against his arm, but he doesn't say anything, just runs a hand down my ribs.

 It's Pam who breaks the silence and bursts out "Are you fucking serious?" And Scarecrow says "What? For that little human? So we can all go do something stupid then you'll go off on a 6 month crazy bender and leave us to clean up?" and I've misjudged how lethal they all are, because Joker's pulled a knife out and is two seconds from lodging it in Scarecrow's palm, but I'm quicker and I shove his hand out of the way, and it lands in mine instead. I use my other hand instead to pull the wide band of ribbon from my head, and ignoring the pain I pull it out, and Eddie's leaned across the table and is wrapping the wide band around it tight and he smiles warmly at me and says "Well I'm in." and I catch the look of concern he throws at Scarecrow, and realize this is his way of saying I'm grateful and I nod at him. J's dug his fingernails into my ribs, but I ignore it.

 Dent interjects and says "I notice you said catch, and not kill" and it's surprising, because you don't realize how sharp he is underneath the crazy.

 Joker's voice rumbles out from behind me, and I really like the sound "Well, for 3 months someone's been shipping kids into Gotham, and they're all like fucked up experiments. I've been chasing it for about 2 months now, and at first I thought it was a one off. But it's not. They all turn up, tortured, violated, and out of their minds- far too far gone to tell us much. Just total messes. And they smell like someone's trying to change them- into people like us. But he can't keep them sane and alive long enough. It only took time, though, and he left something behind-"

 And Scarecrow is obviously not in a good way today because he hisses at me "Left you behind, did he? Oh yes. I can smell the otherness, even if I hadn't seen it. Tell me, did he fuck you too? Did you like it?" And Eddie's got him by the shoulder and I'm grabbing J's hand, squeezing hard in warning, and Scarecrow turns on Eddie, saying viciously "Just because you like to fuck me with your pants on doesn't mean you can shut me-"

  _Hey Scarecrow- Yes. Yes he did- but I didn't die. Is that what you wanted to know? I was 14 the first time, and 16 when it ended. Got any more questions?_ and he subsides, sinking back into his seat, muttering something. _What was that? Speak up_. and he says "Sleeping with a patient. Unprofessional" and I can't help but laugh at the cheap shot, and say _What and your hallucinogenic fun was?_ and he laughs and says "Alright. I like her, Joker" and I'm thinking well that's good. He's obviously going to be an asset (not), when J squeezes my hand- he's obviously pleased. Fucked if I know why, and it makes me want to giggle. I **like** these people. They don't seem to really think anything's wrong with me, excepting, perhaps, my humanness. Could be worse.

"So who are we looking for, then?" Dent asks. "You know, logistically, that it's easier to bring you a head than a person. So why does he need to be alive?" This time Joker squeezes my hand in warning, and I keep my mouth shut, and he answers "We can discuss that another time, if need be. But we have a deadline. 6 months, max, and I'd prefer sooner over later. I'm willing to throw a 500k bounty at it to sweeten the deal." and it's my turn to try not to gape. "I want Lucius Fox. **Alive** , not his head."

 And Kitty cuts in- "Seriously? You know I dated him back in the late 80's. He was a paranoid fucker even back then, and I didn't even manage a watch. Couldn't get it up, either. Are you sure?"

 "I'm fucking sure, Kitty." and he's angry.  I twist back and say _If you weren't_ and I pull my ear forward, so they can all see the F _He likes to sign his work. All the dead kids have one too._ Dent stands and looks at Joker, searchingly.

Then he says to me "Heads or tails?" and I say, _Heads_ and he laughs as it lands, and picks it up without looking. "I'm off to city hall. Have a look at property records and appointments in the last few years, eh? See if I can't help." He must be able to tell I'm surprised and I really am.

He says "You have a bit of the fearlessness of someone I used to know. I really loved her." And he walks closer to me, and leans around, addressing J- "So, can I smell her hair?" and half the room is groaning and Pam says "Way to ruin a moment, Dent" but he obviously knows something I don't because he says "If she's ok with it" and I'm just thinking wtf in my head but

 _Ok. Sure_. And he leans forward, clearly not intending to be invasive, and breathes in. "No no," he says "Wrong smell. You're not her. Sometimes I can't always tell" and he steps sharply back, and looks at his watch. Then "My contact isn't there till after hours, I'd forgotten. I'll have a look tonight then, shall I?" and he sits back down again.

 "So?" J says, addressing the table, and one by one, they all say they're in. Pam does dryly interject with "Well you didn't ask first, did you?" Even Scarecrow, who cuts in with "Yeah, yeah. I'm in. So when can we scrape her down so I can look at it?" and I realize why he's here. "Come by tomorrow. Full set, if you can." says Joker, and he laughs and says, "Sure. I haven't had any fun in ages" and I can't say I like the sound of that.

 Eddie clears his throat, and says "Dent, if you can find some owned properties I can see if I can get into his systems. Probably harder if it's hosted off Wayne's network. Fucker's more paranoid than me. And on that bombshell, who wants a real drink?" and I want to grin at him, and say _Got any of what J was drinking the other night?_ and he cracks up laughing and says, "You know you can hold your liquor better than I expected. You stayed upright longer than I thought you would- what do the rest of you want?" and he starts taking orders and handing out drinks. When I get mine, J plucks it from my fingers and says "You can share that with me, you little drunk" and I laugh and try and pull it from his hands- he's really fun sometimes- but he's got much longer arms than me, and it doesn't go well and I'm trying to reach for it, and he kisses me and says "I want you to stay." And I stop the fun, and sit still. _I want to stay too._ and it slips out, and if it doesn't work out, then at least- I don't even know. But I reach forward and squeeze his ribs, and then climb down off his lap. _I'm gonna go charm the crowd._

 

* * *

 

And she climbs down off my lap, and starts working the room, stopping to speak with everyone- even Scarecrow, who by the end is cackling like a crazy hyena. Which isn't far off, really. I stay where I am- they're all so busy being nosey shits that they'll come to me, but she's doing well. But we're going to try, and that's enough for now. I don't like looking too far into the future. It's bad for my head. Pam still hasn't come over, but she'll be steamed for a day or two. Oh well. Eddie takes a seat next to me and sips his drink, offering me another. _Hey Eddie- thanks_. "No problem," he says. "Good luck with her. I think you're in for an interesting time. She's not afraid of us."

  _No. No she isn't. Well, a little. But not enough for it to really matter._ and he sips his drink and says "What are you doing, Joker?" and I shoot him a sharp look, then sigh.

  _I don't know._  And it's the truth.

 "That usually goes well." and I can't help but snap back- _Says the man that's been faithful to John Crane._

 And he sighs and says, "Yeah. I wasn't thinking either. And it's like being in love with a stray dog" and I regret saying it. _I'm sorry, Eddie. That was uncalled for._ And he says "You know, he comes back, after the disappearances, filthy and angry and having fucked half a dozen strangers, and I still open the door every time" and the note of pain is sharp. "But sometimes you can't help it. Is she that for you?"

 And I open my mouth to tell him to fuck off, to scream, and to say nothing, and instead _I think maybe yes. But Eddie- in 6 months time's up. She'll be getting close to out of runway_. And he could ask more questions, but instead, he pours me another drink and says "So that's what the smell is. I'll do everything I can, all the way to the end. You should take her home soon, she's tired." he observes, and before he turns away, he says "Don't forget to enjoy it. These moments aren't..." and he pauses... "It's not so easy to find."

 But I look back up, and she's got everyone clustered behind her at the jukebox, even Dent, who is a wonderful asset if you're nice to him, and annoyingly, he's still smelling her, so I stand up and move over to her, and say _And what are we doing?_

"Favorite song of your era" says Pam, and she says "This one, Pam?" and Pam says "That's the one."

And fucking Chubby Checker streams out of the box, but she's laughing and saying “I know this one. My dad had it on record. Come on show me." and Pam laughs, and before I can stop myself, I say _I remember this one. I saw it live on American Bandstand. It's only good with two. Pause for a second._ And I pull my jacket off, and roll my sleeves up and _Come stand next to me_ and Pam snickers and says "You weirdo. Can't do a waltz, but you know the Twist" but I ignore her and Dent presses play. And we stand in Eddie's bar, doing The Twist, almost 60 years after anyone even cared about it, and it's one of those better moments. And when you're a little mad, and have an **endless** stretch of time- forward and backward and left and it's not all so linear, not at all, and the events switch back and forth until there's so many you don't know where you started, or where you're ending, and sometimes you wake up and you're not sure if you know who you **are** \- those moments matter.

They're what you hold onto, when things are so dark you're in danger of losing your mind **completely.**

 

* * *

* * *

 


	15. Where the Heart Is Lost and Found

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the inconsequential moments that make up the truth in our relationships, in the same way we uncover the ways we've been hurt- a little at a time.  
> Do enjoy!
> 
> As usual, if you have any questions, feel free to ask.
> 
> Songs for the chapter are:  
> This Is Your Life, Fightclub Soundtrack  
> Candyman Christina Aguilera  
> Beggin for Thread by Banks

* * *

**What a _good_ word, I thought. Disarticulated.**

In The Cut, Susanna Moore

* * *

 

The drive back to the bar is filled with low level bickering. Pam and Johnny had to take front, so of course it's a bit of a fight. I'm sleepy, though, and instead of getting involved, I just lean against him, and I'm a little bit surprised when he shifts and arm so I can sit more comfortably. And not. It's going to take some learning of each other. And it reminds me of the conversation I had with Harvey earlier. (Look at that. 5 minutes and we're on a first name basis). He's a lot more switched on than you'd think, and deeply, deeply kind when in the right mood. All that said, I wouldn't want to take him on when he's mad, but there's a lot of Harvey left in the two face.

"Harley" he'd said. "Not that I'm not glad you're here, but you have to be a little bit careful dealing with us, sweetheart. It's very different when you have a great deal of money, and few obligations to humanity. You start to *think* differently, and it can be a very dangerous thing for you to do if you want to hold onto the bits that are good."

_Who says the human bits are good_ , I'd teased, trying not to go there.

"You may think so, but they're the parts you miss when they're gone. Or I miss them, anyway, and I know more than one or two of us do, too. You see, the real kicker is the time. We don't... need to do things the same way because the time pressures just aren't there. Sure, someone might have a good go at us, but actual death? What do you do when you're never going to die and everyone else does?"

_How do you know you'll never die?_

"Well, I do know that not one of us is counting the time. The seconds don't count anymore. As to how long the time rope is, you'd have to ask him about it. I wouldn't say we're untouchable, just very stretched, and you see the world differently. I can't say I know what's motivating him, but he does this, every now and then."

_What do you mean, does this?_

"Well, I can't say exactly what it is. But he's always given me the impression that he's trying to take something back- something he lost. And god knows I know that feeling, but don't let yourself become well, a casualty of that, I suppose. Ask questions." And I'd leaned forward and kissed his scarred cheek, not the undamaged one, and said _Harvey, I'm running out of time. I'd give a very great deal to see the world through a lens where there was more than enough. And maybe it just means you're clearer than the rest of us. Maybe I'm trying to find something lost, too._ And he'd beamed at me, and it's those tiny little inconsequential things that prove that the truest quality of a good friendship is knowing who someone is, and liking them anyway. He's crazy, and damaged, and I'd bet good money I don't want to meet him on a bad day, but I still like him. Face aside, there's still that idealist in there. 

Joker shifts in his seat so I can put my head on his lap, and I'm struck by how much I like his hands- I've never been very good at staying away from things that aren't good for me. It's a strange inherited sense of obsession, a little bit of kleptomania in my soul- and for once sleep takes over easy.

* * *

Pam and Johnny have been bickering in the front for the last 20 minutes, and she's finally fallen asleep. They're fucking irritating, anyway.  _Shut the fuck up, would you?_

"Oh screw you" Pam spits out, and I have to work at it not to laugh. "You got me out, to come and live with you and dickhead over here, and come and help you out with some insane rescue mission. What are we, the fucking suicide squad?"

And that does make me laugh. _Oh stick a sock in it, Pam. Would you rather sit in a cage?_ At that she subsides, and we all sit in frosty silence for the rest of the ride back. Which is fine by me. When we arrive, rather than waking her I gather her up and carry her upstairs, and Pam looks like she's dying to have a go, but I shake my head at her and for once she manages to hold it in. She's starting to sweat, anyway, so it won't be a long sleep. I tuck her in and head back downstairs- I've no desire for further examination at this particular moment. When I get back down to the kitchen Pam is green in the face with rage, spitting something at Johnny about him being a bloody fool "And what did you think I'd do? Just fall in line and love you too? Like all those other damned idiots?" and she's right up in his face, going for the jugular and for once, calm as brick wall Johnny really is mad and he jams his glock up under her chin and she just laughs.

_"ohnny. Put the piece down, right now_. He looks up at me like coming back from a trance and re-holsters it, stepping back from her, and he turns away and puts the kettle on. _Pam, you're a Guest here, and I'm going to expect you to be polite to the rest of us- we live here, you're just staying for a while. Do you understand me?_ " She knows I'll act on it if she keeps causing problems, so she just nods and goes to walk past me, but she can't let it go and thumps me hard enough in the ribs that it **almost** winds me and I'm reminded that her strength is like a tree trunk- it's going to bruise and she might've cracked a rib but rather than acknowledging her, which is what she wants I just sit at the kitchen island and say _What are you drinking Johnny?_ and he says "Pekoe sound good?" and she pounds up the stairs.

As soon as she's out of sight, Johnny starts to shake with laughter, hands out on the counter, absolutely losing it. I wait for it to pass, knowing it's the kind of laughter that takes over when you want to scream or cry, and once it does he turns and fills the teapot and takes a seat and says "Not one to do anything by halves, are you Boss? From just you and me to two crazy chicks in one day- one of them with enough influence to turn every man into jelly, and the other one who does too but only if we let her dance."  _Well, Johnny, we'll just have to make sure she never dances, and as for the other one we've no hope at all._

And he looks up at me, and the mirth is building until we're both sagged over the counter, laughing so hard we're shaking with it, when she walks in and says "God, what did I miss?" and we're both off again, and I manage to calm enough to say, _"Come and have some tea._ " and she comes over and sits down next to us, pouring out three cups and then she takes my hand in hers and even though I've just upended everything it still **feels**  like the right decision. Which means it probably isn't. We sit quietly, drinking tea, and it's pleasant in the quiet. She isn't sweating, which means she's probably used, but we'll deal with that problem slowly- I'd rather not fuck it up with as much talent as I displayed the other day. Also all the bedrooms are now full- I don't fancy a fight just now. All that said, I'm going to give Pam a good run for it tomorrow- she can get it out of her system, and I'm stronger than Johnny, so for once I'll get to practise on someone with enough strength to knock me out.

_I hate to ruin the peace- but we've got some more things to talk about-_

"More women to move into your place huh?" and Johnny snickers, and I pinch her and say "No I think we're at quota. There's only so many women I can service in a week" and she smacks me back, and I really do laugh- she's quite strong for someone that size.   _No- the Judge assigned to Pam's case is Judge Nero- and he's a bastard of a man. He'll hand over lethal injection just to make a point, and much as she's going to piss us off in close quarters, that's not ideal. I've tried one or two official avenues today, but that's probably not going to fly. Any suggestions?_

"Oh that's easy." she says, and I quirk a brow at her and she plucks a glass off the counter and spits in it. She hands it to me and says "All we need from there is one of us to be his drinking buddy for the night".

_Spit. That's how you do it?_

"Well we can't all be visually gifted, she says, laughing. It's not glamorous but mix something alcoholic in and he won't notice."

* * *

And Johnny's staring at me as if I've grown a second head. So is he- but he says "Oh I think you're plenty visually gifted, but I wasn't going to go straight for killing him."  _Well stop looking at me like that. How many times have you gone into Arkham and you still think that Doctors are ethical?_ He laughs, and Johnny says, "Seriously? You have poison in your spit?" I shrug at him and say, _I'm pretty sure it's just how my body metabolizes, but yeah._ He pours some more tea from the pot and says "Remind me never to piss you off."

"She's right though. Nero won't back down, and he can't be bought. Actually, you know, there might be a quicker way." He pulls out his phone and dials, and presses the speaker button.

"So did she love it? Tell me everything- did you find the jewels?" Kitty's excited voice bursts out of the speaker. I quirk a brow at him, and his voice rumbles with laughter as he says "Kitty, you're on speaker. I'm glad you told us all" and the tone is dryer than the sahara.

"Oh. Ah. Yes? What is it?" she says.

"Judge Nero. Does he come to your place?"

"Bout once a month. Sees Gemma. He likes having the handle of a chinese fan put in his ass after church." I start laughing at that, and Kitty says "Oh, Harley, believe me, that's nothing. How do you think we get things done?"

"Does he drink while he's there?" he asks.

"Yep. Top shelf. Blue Label. Why?.

"He's the Judge assigned to Pam's case, and I tried the official avenues but no dice. And now we have a Poisoner." He looks at me rather hungrily, and it's the only reason I don't say, Please, don't call me that.

"Well, let me check my appointment book. Just a sec." He mutes the speaker and says "God I wish she'd just use her outlook calendar like the rest of us. Or something. We do this *every* time." and a second later she comes back and says "He's due tomorrow. 8pm. It's also beginners night- you should come along."

"Thankyou for your unrequested commentary. We'll be there at 6. You two can have some coffee before." and he smiles at me.

"Bye. Tell me how it goes." and she hangs up.

I smirk at him, and _How what goes?_ and he runs his hand down my shoulder and leans in and whispers "How about you come up for a nap and I'll show you?" and it makes me tingle, and Johnny interjects with "Eww. Get a room" and he laughs again and pulls me out of my chair and up the stairs.

* * *

God but I'm going to fucking pound J into mincemeat at practice tomorrow. I honestly can't wait. It's not that I wouldn't have helped, but he just never **asks**. He just **does.**  
And it's the fucking trait I hate most about him. It makes me fume. I'm about to slip out of my room to- well anything really, when I spot them coming up the stairs, and his hands are on her shoulders and he's whispering something in her ears and she turns and kisses him hard, and she must have bitten him because he winces, and I think two things- one, that if she's giving him a run for his money, he might have finally picked the right one, and two- they look beautiful together, and the thing is- it's the energy between them, striking physicality aside.And there's no-one here for me to fuck. Because I wouldn't say no to watching that.

* * *

"Up against the headboard, baby. I'm going to suck you dry. While I do, we can get to know each other better." And she kisses me, pushing me back, until I'm sitting on the bed, and "Take off your pants." While I am, she undoes my tie and then puts a knee in my belly, indicating that I should back up. Alright. I'm willing to play. And I maneuver myself into the center of the bed against the headboard, and she sits on my lap, tits in my face, and ties me to my own damn headboard. She rocks herself against my cock, and the pleasure is anticipatory, then climbs off me and pulls off her shirt, and then rummages through one of the duffels on the floor until she finds a small black bag, and pulls out a small bottle of something, and something small and black and circular, and comes and sits on her haunches between my legs, and she pours something on her hands. I must be staring a bit hard, because "What? I get cold hands." and then she's kissing me, and her hands are on my dick and I can't help but groan.

And then she bends down, and says, "I'd ask you to hold my hair, but you're all tied up." And then she wraps her warm lips around my cock and Jesus Christ but she's good at this. It's torturously slow, and she's setting a pace that feels like burning, and I want to bury my hands in her hair and hurry her up, but I suspect she knows that. And then she stops, and runs her hands up it and says, " **Pay to play** baby. First question- Tell me about your first fuck after you were changed".

_Everything you could ask me, and that's what you pick?_ And the rasp in my voice betrays how much I want her to keep going, and she laughs and says- "in or out" and leans in to lick the tattoo on my neck. _In_. And she bends down and she does keep going. _Hmmm_. And she goes to stop again. _It was Kitty. I was in a rage, and on the make, and back then, she used to run a dungeon. I stomped in in a fury, and said I wanted a sub. She looked me up and down, and said, No way. You're in no shape to dominate anyone. But I'll take you. You'll feel better after. And I followed her, and she caned my hands, and then after that my ass, and then she made me sit in my own blood when she fucked me- she's got very good timing, and she slapped me the moment I came. And yeah- I felt better after._

And she hums and good god the pressure is building and I bite my lip then let the groan out and buck my hips and she pulls back and says "How'd you learn to do what you do to me? And how'd you know I wanted it?"

_Well, that's a broad question._ And she keeps going and _Oh fuck_ strangles out my throat, and she keeps the pressure up and then pauses. _Well-_ and she keeps going- _The answer to the first is that I spent a lot of time in Kitty's dungeon for a while. You can't learn to take something from someone else until it's taken from you. And I... liked both doing the beating and being beaten. There's an art to timing, you know. It was a way to keep the anger disciplined_.  
And she speeds up, and starts massaging behind my balls, and fuck if I don't want to come. _And I'm going to answer the next one and then I'm going to come in your mouth, sweetling._ And then I feel a vibrating pressure on my perineum, and it takes all my focus to finish my answer. She sets my fucking **skin on fire.**   _I didn't. I broke every fucking rule about how you usually manage these things and I think- hope- want- need- to be right_ , and she leans back and says, "you were right". And then she turns up the vibrating pressure and sucks me in and I'm gone, and she puts her head on my belly and swallows, humming as she does and it's the _best_ kind of oblivion. I've freed a hand and stroke her hair, and she sits up and says "Hey, cheat- and besides I had more questions".

_Well, you'll have to do it again, won't you? But now it's my turn. Untie me now. I want to feel you with my tongue._

* * *

And he grins wolfishly, and says, "quid pro quo" and when I lean up to undo his tie, he kisses my breasts, and then wraps his hands around my back and says "Give and take, sweetpea. My turn to ask the questions." And his hands are on my hair, and all I feel is wanting. He tweaks a nipple, and I groan and he laughs, and then undoes my jeans and pulls them down to my thighs, and lifts me onto my side. He sticks a pillow beneath both of our heads and wraps an arm round my ribs, pulling me into him, and then stuffs a pillow between my knees and then he's kissing my neck and I can't help but sigh, and he uses the moment to pull me closer and puts his other hand between my legs and starts drawing slow, lazy circles outside my panties, and God but I want more-

"Tell me about the first time you came"

_Not long before my parents died. I was mmmmmm fuck 12. It was one of my father's friends. I had this white dress, and my hair was caught up in pigtails- I was a young 12. He'd come round to deliver something, and I'd been sitting beneath a tree, drawing, and he passed by as he was leaving and said hello. I stood up to greet him, and he stepped further forward, and ran his hand down my front and said "aren't you just so sweet and don't you want to be good?" But then my father called for me and he backed up, and left, and that night I lay in bed and touched myself until I came on my sheets, biting my pillow. Apparently I'm a broadcast signal for wanting. Because he was right, I did want to be good._

"Mm" he rumbles and then he increases the pressure and "That's it sweetheart. Be good for me" and I'm welling up with fluid and I have to bite back a cry.

"First fuck after you were free"  
_Well, I was living in a group dorm for kids like me_ \- and I can't help but let out a strangled laugh- _and we had a football team. One of the boys on it had lovely hands, and we were interested in each other. But one day he wanted to touch my breasts, and when I pulled my shirt down he saw my back, and he got scared. He backed off, and I was furiously angry for days. Furious at being rejected, at not having more choices. So one afternoon, to abate the fury, I went into the boys dorm after practice- because they played sport together they were roomed together-_

and he slips his hand into my panties, pulling me closer, knowing just how to touch and he interjects with a "He was right, you're so fucking sweet" and this time I do cry out, and he slows down. "Not yet, finish the story. Don't you dare come yet"

_Well, I was ragingly angry-and I applied a lesson I'd learnt- sometimes when you let someone do something to you, you're really doing it to them- and I went in after practice, knowing he had a guitar lesson- and kissed one of his teammates, and then I let them run a train on me, one after the other, until he came in and told them all to get the fuck out and then I laid back on the bed and said, "what, you're not in? I've been waiting" and he fucked me, but he wanted me to come and I wouldn't do it- said he was just like them, and as I did I sucked on his lip and he came, and after that I pushed him off me and stood up and put my jacket on, and he was so ashamed and he asked me why I'd do that, why I'd ohh fuck_ \- he's slipped his hand inside me and his palms against my clit and he's rocking back and forth- _I'm close_ I warn. _And then I turned around and said- well I got what I wanted, didn't I? And walked out when he started crying._

_Then I fucked the team linebacker for the next 6 months._ And he laughs and "how did it feel to let them do that?" _I don't remember. I was high. It didn't really matter- I went and got in the shower and leaned against the wall and touched myself till I came, after if that's what you're asking. Me and destructive behavior have been on a first name basis for a long time._ And then he's speeding up I want to come. _Please_ , I can barely get the words out, **disarticulated.**

He laughs and, "Not yet. Just come along with me". And he keeps going until I'm almost in pain with it and rolls me onto my stomach and lies over my back, and _oh fuck harder_ and he lays an arm over the back of my neck "I've got you. Be sweet for me now, baby" and he bites my neck and I come all over his hand but he doesn't stop. "More." and he speeds up, holding me down so I can't get away- and starts whispering in my ear.

* * *

Jesus Christ. What a little manipulator. I bet that boy thought about her for months on end. _I've got you_ , _Be sweet for me now, baby._ And I bite her neck, and she comes all over me and I want more. _More_  , and I keep touching her- and kiss her ear and say _That man- he just saw how much you wanted to be told. More astute than most_ \- and I push her down onto me, and keep going- _Come on. Daddy's not done. I want more- because we're gonna replace all of it, and soon the only person you'll come for is_ **_me_** \- and I flip her over and brace an arm up her body, and hold her down as I suck on her clit, and she tastes like salt and want and grief- _Come on baby, come for me, come on_ \- and she arches her back and cries out and starts to sob- and I hold her down and keep on going, and she's squirming, trying to get away, and I'm up, hand on her windpipe- _Don't you **dare** fight me-_ and I keep it there and take the little thing she used on me earlier and switch it on, and put it on her clit and put my fingers in her.

_Come on baby- you're not ever going to feel nothing_ \- _I don't care how high you are- with me you'll feel it. And you'll want it._ _And I'll teach you how to need it- I'm hungry, and I want to really touch you._  And she starts to sob and I rock her and she cries out. And I wrap her up in my arms and pull a blanket over us and holding her close- _it's going to get better, I promise- because you'll be good, and I'll love it. Understand?_ And she quiets and tucks into me.

And it's so fucking satisfying to lie with her in the silence.

* * *

I wake up early the next morning, sunlight just shafting in through the windows. She's still asleep, but the sheets are twisted around her and she's sweating something fierce. I'll leave her a few more minutes, and go get Pam up. Oh this is gonna be good. She can get it out of her system, and I can stretch my muscles. I go and bang on her door. **Nothing**.  _Pam. Get up. If you want a chance to smack the shit out of me, now's the time._

"Fuck off, J."

_I'm going downstairs to practise-_

"Fine. I'll be there in 10 minutes."  
Ha. Pam's gonna love this, and I can't say I won't enjoy it myself. I'm rolling my shoulders in anticipation, when she comes out of the shower. "Ugh." She winces and starts stripping the bed. _It's fine, Harley. We'll make it later. Put some clothes on and come downstairs._ " She laughs, and "You make your own bed? Or is it just that you want muffins?"  _Of course I make my own bed_ I huff. _Well, sometimes. I'm an adult. It's a required skill. And muffins are appreciated, but not required_." I pull out the nearest T-shirt and some soft track pants and pull them on. She turns around, and starts to laugh. "Fight Club? Really?" I look down and it's one of those soap T-shirts. _What? I liked the movie. Besides you're just so much more tasteful._ She's wearing a singlet that says Burn After Use. She laughs again. "I thought it was appropriate." I take her hand and pull her in, kissing her, but she pushes me back "None of that, Mister. I could go another round and then we'll be late downstairs". I take her hand and pull her out the door, where Pam is just passing into the stairwell. She bumps me, hard enough to bruise, in the shoulder. I go to get her back but she swings over the stair-rail and calls "Too late." And she's off running. _I'm not going to dignify that by chasing her, Harley girl_  and she laughs, and takes off after her calling "I will!" and it's a **good** morning. I follow them down at a sedate pace, and when I get to the mini gym, Pam's stretching in the corner, and Harley is hanging from the exercise bars by one leg, and throwing out to catch the next one. I catch her instead and she puts her arms round my neck.

"You two are disgusting" Pam says, and she laughs.

_Princess, you're gonna want to stay on the chairs at the side and sit this one out._ She sits cross legged on one of the chairs. _But do pick the music._

**You open the door and you step inside**  
**we're inside our hearts, now imagine your being is a white ball of healing light.**

And it makes me grin- but Pam's interjected "I hate Fight Club. Something else, please."

* * *

_Hmm._ I'm trying to pick something when it occurs to me. Buttons pressed, I turn back to watch and

**Sweet, sugar, candy man**  
**I met him out for dinner on a Friday night**  
**He really got me working up an appetite**  
**He had tattoos up and down his arm**

And he laughs, but Pam's seen the advantage, and she goes in hard for his solar plexus and lands, and he grunts, but he's quick and he turns and flips her. She laughs "That's all you've got", and kicks his feet out from underneath him, scrambling up quickly. She tries to land a hard kick but he's rolled out of the way, laughing at her. "Come on Pammy. You're better than that" and he's up on his feet and beckoning to her.

This wasn't what I was expecting, and despite the happy music, they're getting more serious. Pam lands a hard punch to his jaw and it makes him shake his head, and presses in, going for his gut but he spins left and gets her hard on the back of the neck, and she lands hard on her knees, but he's forcing an arm up behind her back and she winces and then cries out-

_Isn't this kind of an unfair fight?_ and I'm saying it despite myself and they both look up at me and he slackens his grip and "No" Pam calls and suddenly he's surrounded by thorned roses, twining up his arms and "Fuck" and she's back up, laughing. "Thanks" and she winks at me while he's busy ripping plant out of his arms. She lands a hard smack to the arm still covered in thorny vine and taunts "Come on old man. How slow can you be?" And she's moving so smoothly it's like watching someone dance- she's out of reach again. But she's sloppy, because "Who are you calling old man?" and he's got an arm across her throat and slams her against the gym wall. I'm sure she's out when he grunts and drops her- she must have kicked him. She thumps him hard enough in the side to make him cough but he gets her hard across the face as she turns and I can see the bruise forming. It's clear she's getting angrier because her skin darkens, and vines are spilling out of her hands and whipping him in the side- the one she just hit- but he only winces and smacks her hard enough across the face to make her shake her head, and now she's not concentrating, the vines are fall to the floor, useless. I should be terrified, but honestly I'm **glued**. I can only imagine being that strong. She counters with a right hook to his throat and he coughs and brings an arm down on the back of her head and she hisses, frustrated, and turns, kicking off one of the weight lifting platforms and the crunch makes me wince as she breaks his nose. " **Fuck you Pam** " he grunts out, and she laughs and says "That's what you get for interfering."

He wipes his nose on his shirt and lands a hard smack to her ass and says "Pam are you going to tell me what the fucking problem is?"

**So, I got edges that scratch**  
**And sometimes I don't got a filter**  
**But I'm so tired of eatin' all of my misspoken words**

"Your new girlfriend's got taste" she taunts, and he goes in too fast and she gets him in the nose again. "So _predictable_." This time it really does hurt because he grunts but doesn't slow down and he rips her off her feet and and hits her in the solar plexus and she splutters, and he uses the time to get a leg over her, pinning her in place. He hisses at her "Pam, **what** is the fucking problem?"  
And he grunts, she must have gotten him in the side, because I can't see it, and she's angrier than a trapped cat- because one of those vines of hers whip him across the cheek, opening a wide cut and he groans but doesn't let go. "What's the problem? Spit it out before I knock you **out.** "

She struggles, and the vines eviscerating his back speed up, but he's not letting go, and she gets a good hit into the side of his face and screams at him "You never fucking **ask** , you big jerk. You just interfere like it's your right". Her voice is raw with pain. "I'd made a decision. It was mine to make. And if you'd fucking asked me of course I would have helped. But you didn't, did you? And she might not fucking want me but at least I got to see her everyday." And she starts to cry, and it clicks for me that she means Anna. Shit. He must have realized he's fucked up, because he eases up, and sits back- and she thumps him in the face and pushes him off.

"Christ Pam. You could have told me." he says, as he pulls to his feet. They're both bruised and his back is oozing blood, while she's got an open cut on her arm. But she's not done, because she goes in for his face again, and he grabs her shoulder and hits her in the neck, and she hisses and smacks him on the back, and he groans. He gets a hand round her neck and stares her down "Pam, are you done?"

  
"Not by a long shot. I'm gonna beat the ever loving shit out of you. Then you might have a tiny idea what it feels like. Collecting people like lunchboxes. Does she even know what she's **in for**?" and he drops her, but she must have got him because he wouldn't have done otherwise. She spins round him and rakes long nails over his back and he groans and turns and hits her hard enough that she drops and slides. "Does she **know** what a prick you are?" But then she really goes for the jugular and I want to wince- this is cruel to watch.

"I wonder if she knows how hard you hit when she **doesn't** want it? No? Well she'll learn, won't she? You can't fucking **help** yourself". And he roars at her, furious, and lands two hard punches- one to her stomach and one to her face, and this is getting way out of control. But she holds her own and hits him back, and taunts "Tell me what's she gonna do when you lose your temper? She's 5 foot fucking nothing and I **doubt** she weighs 95." And he lands another smack across her face but she just laughs at him "Tell me, J, how are you going to feel when she **runs** from you? And she fucking will. Will it make your heart ache?" And she thumps him in the ribs and spins out of reach "Or is it just collateral damage?"

I couldn't beat either of them without a weapon, and I'm weighing my chances getting in the middle and they aren't good. Right as I'm thinking it he gets a hard one in, and I hear a crack.

* * *

  
He's probably cracked a rib, but I'm so angry I'm not giving in until I've flayed him. I crack him across the nose for a third time, and it forces him down to his knees and I put a hand on his shoulder and lean in to say "I think she'll cower from you after the first time, and you'll **hate** her for it. And then next time you'll just hit her harder." But I've gotten too close, because he hits me in the damaged side, and it forces me to a knee, and I don't get up quickly enough- and I'm trying to twist out of his grip when the amps scream, and he lets go and we're both sticking our fingers over our ears when:

**Do you like the way I flick my tongue or nah?**  
**You can ride my face until you dripping cum**  
**Can you lick the tip then throat the dick or nah?**

And I can't help but laugh and then I can't stop, and evidently he's thinking the same thing, because he lands on his ass, shaking with laughter. She turns the speakers back down and says "Are you two done? I have more where that came from if not." God she's quite good, especially considering I just eviscerated her, and he manages to stop laughing and says "Was that a demand? Because I'm a bit under the weather, currently. Get in line".

But she's pulling the first aid box out from the wall cupboard, and she comes over and sits cross legged in front of us both. She's pulling out some towels, and she leans forward and starts cleaning me up. "You know" she says, tone conversational "I was going to ask for a go when you started. But, on balance, I think I'll pass for the day. Not a big fan of vine whippings. If I had to choose, probably a belt". And he snickers again and I'm ashamed of being so unkind.

"I'm really sorry, Harleen. That wasn't very kind." and I'm reaching for her hand, and she takes mine, and says "If all anyone had ever done was hit me, I'd probably be very different. As it is, things are how they are. And you're **hurting**. I get that. Sometimes when that happens, it's real easy to hurt someone else, because then you don't have to feel it. Don't worry about it" and she flips my palm over and wipes it down. "I just.. look I talked to her about it, after Johnny. For some people, it's not that they don't love you, it's just that they can't **bear** to be different. And the tough part is- for people like us, no matter how hard we might try, we can't give them that normal- and they can't see how desperately we love them. And we can wish ourselves different a **thousand** times over, but you can't live someone else's life, Pam. If you do one day you'll wake up and find you strangled them in the night. She couldn't see how much you loved her. But **I** saw it." And she leans up onto her knees and puts her arms around me and strokes my hair and it's so _kind_ it's like a wall cracks in my chest, and suddenly I'm crying so hard it's difficult to breathe.

* * *

Ha. That'll do it. 

She's got her arms around Pam, silly bitch, and she's blubbing all over her. I give her the thumbs up over Pam's shoulder, and even that much makes me wince a bit. It's been a while since someone's given me that hard of a beating. Fuck it was sposed to be friendly fire. But she's rolling her eyes at me "Dickhead" she mouthes at me. And I want to laugh, but I can't ruin the moment, or whatever. I give them a couple more minutes and then _Hey Pam. Get your spores off my girlfriend._  Pam lets go and snipes back "If it's that easy you must **suck**  in bed" and I take the towel in front of me and whip her over the shoulder with it- " _You coulda fucking cried **before**  breaking my nose, Pam. Emotional intelligence my ass._" And she laughs, thank God.

"How about we all go and have a wash and reconvene for something to eat. Pam can we have some of your smelly stuff then too?" she's saying, and Pam laughs and says "Smelly stuff? Really?"  
Harley shrugs and laughs "Well I don't know what it is. But it works." And Pam kisses her on the forehead and laughs, pulling herself to her feet. She turns to me and offers a hand up. I take it and scoff _What, no apology for me?_ and she pulls me to my feet rather harder than required and says "You deserved to get your ass whupped. The words were less than required, though" and she grimaces.  _Some of it was true, or I wouldn't have been so easy to bait._  And I'm wincing too. It's your friends who tell you the truth, even if sometimes you wish they'd say it differently.

And little Miss Upstart laughs and starts walking away as she says "Oh I already knew you two were both fucked. I'm really the innocent party, here." And she backs up, hands up "If you kill me, there'll be no food. So I'm telling you now, you're making a mistake." Pam laughs and says, "What kind of breakfast? I can shelve the killer instincts for a good meal." I tap Pam on the shoulder again- _Tart_ and she laughs, and we go upstairs to find the shower.

 

She beats me in there, and she's turned the shower on, and "Bend down" and she pulls my shirt off, slowly, trying not to make it hurt. _It's fine. Pull_.And she does and it makes me hiss. _Like a bandaid, sweetheart._ " She frowns at me. "Somehow, I have the feeling this isn't going to be the first time I'm going to have to do this." I shrug. _"Probably. Scared?_ " And she kisses me (I could really get used to that. I don't know what it is, I never liked it all that much before) and says "You wish." I pull her in with me, and tuck her head under my chin. " _What Pam said- she's not lying. Sometimes I'm not the best person to live with._ " Which is a fucking understatement, but it's hard to say it at all. She wraps her arms round my back, and settles then starts to speak. "Me neither. I don't sleep very well. Sometimes I wake up in the night, screaming. If it's a bad day, and I can hear-other things-I might not hear you. I've got self destructive tendencies that can hurt quite a bit. And I use all the time. Oh and yeah. A host of psychological issues wide enough to run a river through, and you know, that death stuff." She chuckles against me, and I can feel the vibrations against my chest. "How are you feeling about yourself?"

And it's easy. _I'm impatient. When I'm not feeling so well I make compulsively bad decisions. I'm quick to anger. Right now it's unusually calm in my head. It's been a good month. But sometimes, when I'm really mad, all I want to do is burn it all down. The last time, I killed twenty people in a blind rage. I think one day I won't come back. And that'll be it. I have a lot of assets, and there isn't a pie in Gotham I don't have a finger in. And I like it. I like power very much. And I've got pretty unusual sexual preferences. I read a lot, because I'm not a very good sleeper. I like sleeping with you, though. And I'll hurt you. Sometimes in good ways. Sometimes not_.

Hmmm, she kind of hums. "I have a question." And I'm grinning. _Ask. I'm not going anywhere, sweetheart._ And she looks up, and butter wouldn't melt in her mouth "Well. Two. So, what you two did downstairs- can you teach me how to do that?" And I'm laughing so hard my ribs hurt. _Well, I don't know babe. You've got a pretty decent slug on you already. If I did it might be dangerous for my health_  and she's laughing too _But some of it, yes. There are some things you won't be able to do._ _You're not big enough, or strong enough._ _Why?_ " She shrugs. "I never learned hand to hand. And I would like, for the next while, never to be in a position where I can't fight back." And something in me crumbles a bit, and I hold her close. _We'll start tomorrow. Something in me says you'll be better with a bat._ " And she laughs, softly. _What was question 2?_ She shifts her head against me. "What did Kitty mean by beginners night?" Oh. _Well, she doesn't run a dungeon proper anymore, but there's a playroom space in the back. Sunday is beginner's night. I never usually go. I'm not exactly inexperienced. I've been a House Whip, before though._ " And she's laughing that bell like laugh again and says "Kitty's sense of humor, I assume. What is a House Whip in a non political context? I assume you aren't whipping the votes?"

And real laughter threatens, but I hold it in- it'll hurt my ribs. _It means I put the new subs through their paces. I can do suspension too, but not on beginners. It's fun, but not that satisfying. At the end you talk to them about the things they shouldn't do, and send them on their way."_ She leans back and looks up at me "I'm shocked they're not too scared to let you touch them." And then I do laugh. _Oh, the fear is part of it. And I don't touch them. Gloves. You never touch them. We can stay tonight if you like. Now, I'm starving. Gonna feed me?_ " And she laughs and gets out. 10 seconds later she barrels back in and launches herself at me- and the sudden weight on my ribs almost makes me grunt, but she kisses me and drops back down "Thankyou." And dangling from her ears are a pair of very pretty red gem earrings. Before I can reply "I'm gonna go cook." And she barrels back out again. I take a bit longer to dry off and comb my hair. And for a second, in the mirror, I've got someone's blood dripping down my face and I can feel the panic throbbing under my skin. I turn and walk out. **Not now.**  
  
Not now. Not now. **Not now**. I stop at the bedside and swallow my pills, and close the music box on my way down- the little dancer spinning in an endless loop, locked in her own world, _safe_.

  
That's the _thing_ , you see, about madness. People say you "go mad". Not really. All the ingredients are already there, just **itching** beneath your skin like a disease. It's a lot like gravity- all it needs is a little _push_. And after that it's a slick spill of oil in water. Don't even think it can be _**contained.**_


	16. The Skin You Lived In

* * *

 "Sadism doesn’t come suddenly, like lightning. It has a long history in childhood and always starts in hopelessness and fantasy. The adult is the person on their knees, asking you not to be afraid. Turning away is another scar on their damaged hearts."  
Anon

* * *

 

 

I'm sitting cross legged on the bar, drinking a lemonade and working on my laptop when he strides in- the afternoon light is shafting through the windows and I like sunshine. Eddie and Scarecrow are in tow- and Scarecrow's lugging a couple of cases. I lift a hand to indicate I need to finish up, and they wait, until I've pulled my glasses from my nose and climbed down. Scarecrow's looking a bit less disheveled today- I suspect Eddie's been at him to clean up, and he's rather nicely dressed. Head's still a mop though. I wrap my arms round him and kiss him on the cheek. "Hullo Scarecrow" and he laughs. He's the only one aside from J who seems to like being called by his moniker and not his first name. I do the same for Eddie, who hugs me tight- he's really a big teddy- I can't help but think it- and say "So, I'm glad you're here, but what exactly does scraping me down mean?"

Scarecrow laughs, and really the guy is fucking eerie. It still shocks me that he and Eddie are together, but I guess you can never tell. Maybe he's a great fuck? But he's speaking as he slams the cases down on the bar "Take your shirt off love. I'm gonna play with my toys!" Eddie rolls his eyes. "He's gonna take some skin samples and analyze them. And some fluid samples, bit like a lumbar puncture. But not as deep. Probably some blood." Scarecrow bumps him on the shoulder and says "Shoulda let her sweat it." Eddie laughs and says "God you're a jerk. Why would she sweat it? Joker'd pull out your intestines and serve them as cocktail decoration if you hurt her."

Scarecrow shakes his head, like a wet dog, and turns around. "So, yeah. It's gonna hurt. Not like- I dunno how human people _hurt_ now- not awful. But not great. Sure you want me to do this?" Eddie lopes closer to me and says "What were you writing?" and I know he's kindly trying to distract me. Unfortunately it's not a good topic. Explaining what interests me is difficult, even more so explaining it to a room full of people who have all spent time in an asylum. Since I looked at my first case studies in high school (I always wanted to treat people) I've been fascinated by the linguistics of madness. A lot of people who began sane, and became in some way- certifiably not sane, speak differently after. They all have linguistic tics- and it's not alternate personalities, or anything like that. I've been working on recording it. I suppose it's the linguistic slang of the crazy. But I know that explaining what interests me is makes me seem, off. Stupid. "On the side I write about language. It can be very idiomatic. Like how we say Old Timer's disease." He nods, clearly not understanding. "I'll tell you about it properly another time." And I step past him.

"Can't you give her something?" he's saying. "How much is it gonna hurt?" Scarecrow shrugs. "Gotta scalpel some skin off. I dunno. Do you hurt a lot?" and I want to laugh at the unintended accuracy. "It'll be fine. I'll tell you to stop if I can't deal. Why no painkillers?" Scarecrow shrugs and turns a chair backward. "Affects the samples. I could, but I'd have to take more to compensate. It's up to you, really." I sit facing the chairback, and pull off my shirt. "Is adrenalin a problem?" He's pulling out sampling bottles and doesn't turn. "Not really. How much?" he says. "Erm... enough that you'll see it. Little bit of speed." But it's J who's staring me down. I want to flinch, so I rub my nose instead. When I look up, he's turning on his heel and walking out. What the fuck did he think I was taking? But it's Eddie who pulls up a chair, and holds out his hand and says "Squeeze if you need to, darlin. How about you tell me what you were actually writing?" And I hold onto his hand with mine, and I've started asking him questions when Scarecrow makes the first cut. Thought I'd panic, but it's weirdly non threatening. "How did you talk differently before?" And he laughs. "Seriously? All the crazies to work on and this is the bit you're interested in?" I try not to twitch and answer him instead.

"Well, I think crazy people are still people. They just see things differently. You just have to speak their language. My father was like that before he died. Always talking about things rather than how he felt, or what he thought. Taught me you gotta learn to interpret. Besides a lot of the time it's funny. The inhibitions aren't the same, so it can be truthfully cutting. Like I asked someone once why they call us shrinks." And scarecrow laughs and cuts deeply enough to make me groan. "Sorry. We call you shrinks because you try and shrink us up. Who we are, what we want, into something palatable. Contained." It's really starting to hurt now. "Same sort of thing the first time I heard it. My father taught me that madness has a language, and that it creeps. I guess I wanted to capture some of who it is, I suppose. The humanness of it." Eddie's smiling, and Scarecrow brushes a hand across my neck, but then balances up the good deed by slicing me hard enough to make me wince. "And your Mother-" Eddie prompts.

"My mother was never anything but crazy. I don't remember her differently, and we didn't get along well, anyway. Daddy's girl." He winces at me, and I realize how that sounds. "Umm. But she did teach me how to cook." And just as I say it, Pam and J roll in, him carrying a tray with a teapot and cups, she carrying the muffins I made earlier- eating one, actually. "Pam. I didn't say they were for you. Leave some for Eddie and Scarecrow, please." She laughs at me. "They were right there." But J's putting the tray down, teacup in hand. "Come on Princess. Drink up." He tips my head back slightly so I swallow, and if that weren't enough, the taste clues me in. He looks up at Scarecrow and says "You've got 15 more minutes." And grins. "Why, might I ask?" And he laughs. "Because I just drank mushroom tea" and he laughs and says "In 15 minutes she'll be laughing too hard to stay still. Won't affect your tissue, but it will dull the pain." Scarecrow grumbles. Pam interjects, rather too brightly "And then we can have muffins". J smacks her and says- "You already did."

And the rest passes _easy_. Even the blood taking.

At the end, Eddie says "So do we all get mushroom tea?" And I'm laughing so hard I can barely breathe. "It really wasn't that funny" he mutters. "No I brought you green. Unless you want to get out of your head." J says in response, as he bandages me up and pulls a fresh shirt over my head. Once he's done he picks me up and sits me in his lap, then picks up his teacup from the bar. Scarecrow, however, is scarfing down blueberry muffin so rapaciously he's got squirrel cheeks. I can't hold the laughter in, and it's so bad I'm shaking with it. "What?" he says, and muffin crumbs come out his mouth and down his front, and it's so funny I wish I could take a picture. Pam thumps him in the shoulder "Anyone'd think you never eat anything." Eddie laughs this time and says "He doesn't." Scarecrow shrugs "They're really good, ok? Now shutup. I'm eating" and he snags another.

"Did you know, your girl is writing a book on crazy people talk" Eddie says, laughing. "Really?" J says, and I like the rumble into my side. I squeeze closer and he threads an arm round me. "What kind?"  
"Mmmm. Well, the idiomatic changes and commonalities in the words used by people who aren't completely sane. I think madness has a language. It's not really observations, more like a dictionary. Kind of.". Pam picks up another muffin and grins cheekily at me. "So what you really mean is that you really are a shrink." And hysterical laughter spills out of me until I'm shaking so hard I can't breathe. "Come on Pam. That's an unfair disadvantage and you know it." J's saying, but I manage to get myself back under control again. "You know, people who are Shrinks- they either do it because they have something to prove, or because they're just as fucked up themselves. I just have a piece of paper that says I get what being messed up in the head is, and that's no achievement. What I'm trying to do is give it a language that isn't medical. Schizophrenic, bipolar, cluster A or Cluster B, sick. It reduces us to less than human, and it's still... just people. Different people. You know, my room-mate in college killed herself. The day before we'd made cookies, and she told me, as we stood in the kitchen eating them, that being crazy is just a refusal to accept the common-ness of your own reality, the arbitrary hurts people inflict. You just can't deal with it anymore, the carelessness. The next day I came back from my class on- I think it was personality disorders- and she'd hung herself from her wardrobe door. You know, she was right."

But Scarecrow's put down his muffin and stopped gavaging himself, and he snaps at me. "That's bullshit. You can't reduce us to a set of influences. One person who gets fucked by daddy is completely different from the next, and jamming more psychotropic drugs down them isn't going to fix them, or change that they came out of it differently. One will take a machine gun and take down 20 people in the street, the other will be a single librarian forever. We're not products" he hisses, obviously furious.

"Easy" Eddie says.

"You'd know better than me" I say, shrugging at him. "You're the best of both worlds." And Eddie's in front of him, holding his shoulders, speaking to him. But he shrugs him off "What- I'm not gonna kill her". I laugh and say "Good to know. But you brought up the individuality in madness- sure, it's all individual. But think about the people you treated. What were the differences and similarities?" He chuckles and says "I already said you were unethical. Proof point 2. For the record. The similarity was that they couldn't deal with their fears, not that they couldn't handle being hurt. Usually they'd taken more hurt than most people see on their worst day, and lived through it." He shrugs off his jacket, and pulls up a chair in front of us, sitting backwards, but pretty still. Eddie leans over and whispers in his ear. "Fine fine. As long as you stop bugging me about it." And I'm pretty astounded when Eddie steps up behind him and starts combing the mess that it his hair. He ignores it and starts to speak. "Explain the commonality of language thing, and I'll tell you what I think." Pam sits up on the bar. "Well settle the fuck in everyone, we could be here for a while." And he laughs, distractedly. J shifts me in his lap so that he's closer to Scarecrow, but hides it by pouring some more tea, doesn't interrupt.

* * *

 

And I get a comb through his damned tangle for 15 minutes, while they sit there arguing over shrink stories. They could be talking about hookers and blow, for all I care. He hasn't combed it in months, or let me do it. Truth is I'd pretty much do whatever I could for her. How matted the hair is tells you just how bad of a state he's in. It's been bad for a while, and things at home haven't been great. But he's speaking clearly, not looking away, none of his usual tics and I'm reminded just how brilliant he actually is. She's holding her own, though, baby shrink or not. "Then why did you make your drug? What were you trying to do? I tried to find out, but no-one ever got an answer from you that I could access." And he shudders a bit, but stills- he's staying witb us. "Professional interest?" he's asking. "Of course" she says.

"I had a patient once, early in my career- mass murderer. He liked to kill little boys. His father abused him. And at first I thought it was about perpetrating what happened to him on other people, repeating the experience." He shrugs, warming to his topic. "But that wasn't it at all, as he was soon to prove to me, frustrated that I didn't understand." And he stands up, and pulls off his T-shirt. Shit. I know, even if the others don't, that his torso is a giant mass of scars- some white, some pink. I'm impressed, she doesn't even blink. Even if I caught J's eyes widening, he sips his tea and hides most of it.

  
He sits back down and pulls his T-shirt back on, keeps speaking. "When he knifed me- 17 times, to be exact- once he'd gotten the first few in, he asked me if I loved him. Thinking it'd help, I told him yes, but he said, tell me. Tell me that you love me. And I did- but that really just queued more savaging. I nearly died. But when he was done, he used my walkie talkie to call help, and when they came I'm told he told them if I didn't come back alive he'd keep doing it till they saved one. Took me two months to be semi functional, three before I came back in to treat him again. I was young enough to think he'd really carry out his threat." and he laughs, bitterly, but sanely.

"I came back in, and I was so afraid I could barely speak. But he sat there in his jacket and said- so Doc, d'you understand now? I told him that I thought so, even if I didn't have a fucking clue, and he laughed and said- It's not about hurting. Or what daddy dearest did to me. It's about fear. Fear of being loved or not. And he laughed at me and said You know if you hadn't said you loved me I would've stopped." His shoulders have tensed up, and I want to touch him but I know better. "It's not about hatred, or even damage. Get the right set of circumstances and it's about shifting not what happened to you, but the fear. I wanted to be able to induce your worst fear, and have you face it- because I became _obsessed_ with the idea that if you saw it and lived it'd be possible to _fix_ you, I suppose. I didn't **account** for _scarring_. I think, just like the skin, that the brain scars."

* * *

 

Well isn't this just a little spanner in the works. Look at that- she's got the most feral among us behaving like an actual person. Eddie's looking at her like he'd hang the moon for her and it's a little bit disturbing how she seems to have that effect on people. "So what you're saying is, that everyone will scar differently" she's saying. And he's still calm "Yes. I think that some of it's fixable, some isn't. Trying to blanket cure it is a bit like trying to make everyone fall in love with the same person- it's a disaster. I got it really, really wrong. There are some wounds you just can't heal, too."

Before I can move she's out of my lap and she's hugging him. Hugging him. I don't think anyone aside from Eddie would even dare to touch him, and even more shockingly he's patting her in the back in a way that suggests he's either bemused or uncomfortable. "Do you want to come over tomorrow night and look at my stuff?". He laughs- "Email it to me and I'll come over and we can talk about it. Eddie'll print it off for me. And on that note, we have somewhere to be" he's saying, taking Eddie's hand. And they make their exit. And I think we're all astounded because she picks up a muffin and turns around- "What?"

Pam starts to chuckle. "Well, I can't say I've ever seen him take Eddie's hand without being forced into it. Or talk to anyone like that. And then you hugged him and came out alive. Trouble obviously comes in threes, tomorrow he might decide he's not gay and marry a shopgirl." She takes a bite of her muffin and smirks at me "I just have that effect on people. Can we go have a nap before we go to Kitty's? I've got work tomorrow"  
It seems so damned _ordinary_. Time is such a short leash and I don't do ordinary well- normal is a life setting I don't get, none of us do. Makes me want to get drunk.

 

I ignore it and "Sure. I'll work while you sleep." And she comes and takes my hand, and Pam snickers and "Didn't get enough sleep last night, did you?" She just bumps her on the shoulder as she passes, says "There had better some muffins left when I come back, Pam." Then we go upstairs, and I start working while she curls into my side and sleeps. It takes me about 30 more minutes to compile my numbers, and check Dent’s info and when I'm done, I message Johnny. "Penguin's. 1. Be ready." I want to sleep, but I can't. So instead, I close my eyes, anticipating. When that doesn't work, I untangle her, and go knock on Pam's door. She opens it- "Seriously Pam? You're turning my house into a fucking garden?" She shrugs. "Gotta do it J. Otherwise it itches. I'll pull it down before I leave." I want to be pissed, but I know what she means. "Tonight. Penguin's. Dent got back to me. Guess who his backer's been all this time? Wanna go inflict some savagery?" And the smile she gives me back is feral. Then she winces a bit. "We're not gonna take her, are we?" That makes me chuckle. "Not that she's not formidable for someone that small, but no." She laughs, then sobers. "Does she really.. umm get what you are?"

"What? An acid born killer? No. But she will. No need to hurry the process. Besides, I think you'll find she's more on our side of the line than the other." She beckons me in, and I sit on the greenery and tell her about the night at the warehouse. When I'm done, Pam whistles. Then laughs. "Why don't you just dump her in an acid vat and find out what comes out." For a second, I'm too surprised to speak. "She might not survive it. You have to refuse to die." Pam stares at me, pitying. "She's already dying. You could do it sooner before it really hurts." And I'm pulling to my feet. I don't want to have this discussion. "Not yet. It gives you something, but it takes something that matters. Besides... what if she didn't come back up?" And I'm out before she, or I, can examine it.  
Instead I call Eddie. He picks up, and his tone of voice is like the cat that licked the cream. "Well fucked, are you?" and he laughs. It's good to hear. "Ed, Scarecrow seems to be in ah a good frame of mind right now. Would you mind if he came out tonight?" Eddie hesitates. "He'd have fun. Tell him to bring some of his spray. We're gonna give someone a scare." He sighs. "Fine. But send him home safe. And whatever your girl is doing, tell her to keep doing it. He's writing right now- he hasn't done that for months."

"Send him round around 1, would you. We'll be back by 3." And I hang up and the anticipation is threading through me- a bit like drinking hot wine. This is going to be fun.

* * *

He shakes me awake at half past 5, and I race into the shower, and come out 10 minutes later with my hair twisted up, and a very red lip. He looks at me like I've grown a second head. "What? I'm 23". And he laughs. He's pulling on a suit and shirt in all black, and next to the green it's so sober. "Where do you get your clothes, anyway?" He shrugs at me. "Tailor. Nothing's changed in a long time. I just call him when I want something. Now- these kinds of clubs usually have dress rules, but I'm going to hazard that you don't have any fetish wear?" and he rumbles a laugh. "Not precisely. But I've got something that might work. I bought it on a whim, and I haven't worn it." I flip through the hangers I put in the wardrobe till I find it, and then slip into the bathroom to pull it on. It's slightly looser than when I bought it, but nothing I can do about it now. I thread the red gems through my ears, and back out.

"Zip me up please." He does, and-

"Where on earth did you get that? And what for?" I smirk at him. "Jealous?" and he stares me down. "Whim. Expensive whim. But I wanted it, so I bought it." It's in thigh length latex, with harlequin pleats at the hem, and a shelf bust. Diamonds pattern the neckline in red and white, and it's shiny, bright and half a ml thick. He starts to laugh. "Not exactly the impression you give in those frumpy blue skirts and shirts." I ignore him. "Shall we?" He takes my arm and we head down into the club, which is already pumping. I'm surprised when the crowd part for us and people stare. He chuckles at me- get used to it, sweetheart.

We take a strange route down into the Narrows proper, until we find a long drive leading up to a house that's lit up in the darkness like it has candles in the windows- the light seems to flicker. It could almost be called a cottage house- if it weren't so large. Vines twine up the walls with trumpet blooms spilling off them, and a jasmine arch is over the front door. Black roses spill from the ground around the front, and it's all surprisingly magnificent. Kitty sweeps out, dressed rather magnificently in a black cage top and fishtail skirt, elbow length gloves and a mask- and the bit that makes me laugh, kitty ears on her head.

"Don't you look like a million dollars" I call out, and she looks up and comes over to hug us. "Come on in" and she's practically ushering us into the hallway, and then through to what is obviously her office. It's very sober compared to how she's dressed, and I can't help but laugh. 'It's a bit incongruous, I explain and she starts to laugh herself and says- "Well I've worked in here for so long that if it looked like part of a whorehouse I'd probably be very annoyed by it."  
And I'm truly surprised. Despite the icy untouchable impression she gives, she's warm and funny and very kind. An hour of more inconsequential discussion later- "So- d'you still nick stuff?" She laughs and says "Not so much anymore. I'm somewhat retired. Caught my hands on a fence and I'm clumsy these days. Nerve damage. No. Now I tend to do a great deal more spying. It's very easy to get powerful men in Gotham to do what you want them to if you know who they're cheating on their wives with. And of course, access in general."

"That's diabolical- don't they ever figure it out?" She laughs. "Some do. But this is where you go, honeybun. We're it- I'm officially not zoned, so there's nothing they could do if they wanted to. And on that topic-" and she pulls down a glass and some blue label, and puts it on a tray with a napkin neatly folded underneath. I pick up the glass, and spit in it. She's staring at me incredulously. "Don't say it. I know. You've all got cool looking ways of doing things. But it works." But she smirks at me and looks at J and says "So d'you just never kiss her then?" He stands up and waps her on the shoulder with the magazine he'd been flipping through while we chatted, while I'm laughing so hard I could melt into a jelly pile on the floor. And I really can't stop. I end up with my head on her desk, and it really shouldn't be so funny. Maybe it's the stress of the last week, or something.

But Kitty interrupts sharply "What's that?" She touches my bandaged back, turning on him, fast. "That is **not** what we do and you _know_ it. 5 minutes in and I seriously can't fucking believe you. You're _out_ of control. Completely fucking out of control." And the phenomenal thing is she's advancing on him and he's actually backing up. He puts his hands up "Eddie needed to have a look at her Kitty. Nothing happened." She turns to me and to be honest I'm shocked. I've never seen him back off from anyone. "Is it true?" she says, addressing me- "Yes. It's complicated. But if he did I would've asked. Back down, Kitty."

I’m standing up- ready to step in, when she turns neatly, and takes a seat back behind her desk. She's looking down at her coffee, hands flat on her desk, when "Understand this, _clearly_ and with no chance of not _knowing_ what I mean. If I find out you have acted out- and I _will_ find out- first I'll _thrash_ you, and then I'll dislocate your shoulders. I'll put them back when you've _learned_ better." She picks up her coffee and sips the last of it. "Do you _understand_ me?"

And the worst part is he nods and " **Yes** ". But she's forcing it- "Yes _what_?"

Well that's quite enough of that. "Come on- we're _done_ here" I say, and stand, holding out my hand to him. "Thank you for the coffee, Kitty. We'll have to do lunch. But whatever it was that was between you is done. Don't do that again. Whatever goes on between us is none of your business. And if I find out you've been sticking your nose in, we'll have a _chat_ ahead of us." And I yank his arm and pull him towards the doorway, because obviously now's the time for him to freeze. Takes a hard tug for me to get him to walk out behind me. When we get outside, he stands in the cold air and sucks a harsh breath in, and I want to tell him its fine, _things happen- we aren't-_

When he turns and shoves me against the stone wall and kisses me like the world is about to end, and I can feel how aroused he is against my hip. It's not going to be that easy. So I kiss him back and knuckle my hands into his hair and turn out of his grip, pushing him back against the wall himself. There's a low stone wall- and standing on its edge I kiss him some more, holding his wrists in my hands and when he finally groans put my face in his warm neck and kiss the raised skin- **shhhhhhhush** \- like soothing a small child.

Then I clamp down and bite him, hard enough that he tenses, _shhhhh_ \- it feels good to lick the skin I just bit and lean up to his ear. "If you're the one that needs to hurt- well, we can go and do that too. But you'll have to trust me. Is that what you need?"  
The silence stretches out between us like a piece of string, taut-  
" _Yes_."

It's all so fucking crazy.

But he takes my hand as we walk into the darkness together- sometimes they’re in the _shadows_ \- those beautiful things that we found we _loved_ someday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's a slow build, but stick with me!  
> These two have a journey together, and it will reward if you're patient.  
> I'm trying to capture both a story with depth, and give you a real sense of the small things that make up a relationship.
> 
> As always, ask questions! Suspend your disbelief a little longer, I promise it'll be a good time.


	17. Innocence, or The Bones of What You Believe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Provocation can tumble even the strongest bond.  
> What you believe can change the outcome.  
> What kind of love do you think you deserve? Joker shows some of his cruelty, Harley gets a little bit closer to the edge.   
> Warning for non consent.  
> 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 **I**   **got to know that your heart beats fast and**

**I got to know I'm the only one for you**

**What have I become?**

**I'm a fucking monster**

**When all I wanted was something beautiful**

Monster, Meg Myers

* * *

 

 

I wake up at midnight, suddenly-  like someone's sucker _punched_ me.

But no, everything is quiet and she's curled up on her side next to me, quietly sleeping. It's me that's unsettled, and the discomfort makes me roll my shoulders, muscles tense. My back is black and blue striped from her having at me earlier. From me _letting her._ Doesn't matter. It's good to move into a fight a little tense. If you're not you'll make avoidable mistakes. It takes me 15 mins to dress and get downstairs, where Pam is sitting on the bar, geared up in black, hair wild and tangling with blooms. Eddie's sent Scarecrow in his usual gear and it occurs to me that I've never seen him any other way. He'd look like a University Professor on an off day if it weren't for the guns strapped to him. Johnny's sitting at a table, putting his glock back together, in quick, clean movements. I'm the only one of us who likes knives. Pam, of course, doesn't need them. She and Scarecrow  are laughing together, and Johnny's ignoring them both , which is different, but these things don't often work out like we wish they would.

 

Johnny stands and turns- "Good to go, Boss?"

 

"Alright everyone. We're going to do this quickly, and quietly. I don't want any stupid shit. Right Pam?" She just laughs, which likely doesn't bode well. But I can't take an army in there, and she knows it. We all climb quietly into the town car, and scarecrow seems to be repeating something in his mind. He's nodding to himself, and I fucking hope he's ready, because if not it could be a problem. It's a quick drive to Penguin's. "Alright everyone. Quickly, quietly. We're after Penguin, that's it. I don't want this in the news."

 

"Good luck with that" Pam quips. Fuck but she's a bitch sometimes. We climb out in tandem , and some fuck awful version of Misoriou is spilling out the doors of his place and probably deafening the eardrums of everyone inside. "Someone turn something else on, please" Pam shoves me in the shoulder and laughs "What? We're here because he offended your sense of good taste?"

 

"Actually, yes. He's always been behind the fucking curve." Pam grabs Scarecrow's hand and says "Remember that year?" and he laughs, sounding, as always, like a mad dog. They step ahead together and force the doors open, guns in hand, "Alright everybody this is a robbery ! Get the fuck out" and Pam follows it with "You pricks better fucking move or I'll execute every last one of you." For fucks sake. They're such fucking children. But they've frozen, and I've got to shove her out of the way- the entire place is empty, and Penguin's sitting at a table in front of the bar. He's cleaning one of his fucked up modified guns, and there's a bottle of scotch in front of him. He looks up at us and grins that unsettling grin of his, and jabs at the sound system remote in front of him. He misses, frowns, but gets it the second time. "I hate all that shit that kids listen to these days. When I'm here by myself I can play what I want. Well come on in, you three- and Johnny, of course." He grins at me- "Still following you around like a loyal Labrador after all these years, I'm sure. Sit the fuck down and pour some drinks."

 

I know from past experience he's sloppy at it, but it's a neat opening salvo, and I'm reminded how much flair he has. We all sit "I've been expecting you- I thought you'd be paying me a visit, ever since you picked up that little toy. It's a shame Kitty didn't come with you- she'd have enjoyed this- she'd be just the little Pussy I've been looking for!" And he laughs at himself and sips the drink Pam's poured him. "What do you want, Joker? Tell me, or get the fuck out of my bar."

 

Best not prevaricate. "I want your Boss. I want Fox. And you're going to give him to me."

 

He sips some more of the swill he likes, laughs. "We've something in common, you and I. People think we're both monsters. You're just **fucked** in the head and, well, I haven't got a choice" and he waves a gloved hand at me. "But even Monsters have masters, and I'd like to get rid of mine, too."

 

* * *

 

I take a seat on Penguin's bar, listening. I would've liked a good fight, and Scarecrow looks positively bored. Penguin's telling this heartbreaking (not fucking really) story about how Fox has been having him manage the kids. He's cash whore, always has been, and I don't believe him for a second. I'm surprised J's even listening.

 

"He has me make all the arrangements, and keeps trouble away from my door" J laughs. "Interesting. Why? What does he want with them?" Penguin's shrugging, relaxing. "Wants an army of people like us. But he keeps fucking it up. They go mad before he's done, none of them survive the process. None of them were like her. She just wouldn't die, no matter what he did. And you know the fucked up bit? She loved it. Never met a girl who did better being pushed than she did. She loved Fox too. Don't think your little pet is innocent here." he's wagging an elongated finger- "don't let her wrap you round her finger. She'd leave you in 3 seconds if he hadn't dumped her off." He laughs then. "Oh- you thought she got away from the big bad _monster_?" He clicks his tongue, disapproving. "Oh no. He got rid of her. She stopped healing up. Something went wrong. He hates imperfect things- such irony. You'll never get to him, so don't even bother trying, and she isn't worth it, anyway. Find a new pet." J laughs in response, and settles back, hands loose. Jesus Christ. Can we just get rid of him already.

 

"You know, Penguin, you never understood something in life. If you're good at something, never fucking do it for free." Penguin hasn't realized he's in trouble, and he laughs- he isn't finished when J plants his knives in his palms, pinning them to the wood underneath. A moment later, the laugh turns into a scream. “Do you want to know why I use a knife? Guns are too quick. You can’t savor all the… little emotions. You see, in their last moments, people show you who they really are. But I know who you are, Penguin. There's nothing wrong with a life without rules, but you're without principle. I don't like that at all.”

 

And he puts a bullet in the fucker's brain.

 

 

* * *

 

I've a message to leave, and it's taking everything in me to focus on the task. His words are _creeping_ in- the **rage** makes me want to shake my head.

 

_she loved Fox, too._

 

His skin is still warm under my hands as I take the blade to his left rhomboid

 

_She'd leave you in three seconds if he hadn't_

 

His skin is spongy under my hands as I peel it back to the left scapula.

 

_wouldn't die no matter what he did_

 

I start in on his right. It's almost a shame to be ruining the enormous ink work up and down his back, but that's what you get when you fuck me over.

 

_don't think your little pet is innocent_

 

His fascia is an ugly color, almost 70's pink and it's vaguely nauseous.

 

_you thought she got away from the big bad monster- she just swapped it out for another one, and you know it._

 

Bloody skin is slippery, and it's not pulling away with ease

 

_You're the new monster. Don't be a fool._

I fan his skin back from the bone, and now you can see- he’s an _angel_.

 

 

Pam helps me pull his body from the back of the van, and when we're done he's hanging from the side of the Wayne building, nailed there by his back. Even angels can be **pinned** down by the weight of their _wings_. There is **no** forgiveness. Only fools and the _innocent_ could ever think so.

 

* * *

 

I woke up at half past one, and I've been sitting on the bar, ever since. Pretending to work. Pretending to anything. They were all gone and everything had been quiet. It's almost 4:30 by the time the bar door opens. Johnny comes in first, and he's shaking his head at me, minutely. He's clean and looks ok. Pam comes in next, and she's got... dried blood all over her. I must look shocked, because she says "It's fine. I'm going to shower" and stomps up the stairs. J looks like he's stumbled out of a horror movie. He looks at me like he doesn't even see me, and then treads up the stairs.

 

Shit. What the fuck happened.

 

I head up after him, and when I get to the bedroom he's stripping his shirt back- it's so clotted with someone else's blood he has to pull. In this light he looks different. I should be afraid. Any **smart** person would be. So instead I move towards him and reach out to touch his shoulder- I can still see the marks I left all over him earlier- when he spins and crushes my wrist in his grip. I won't scream. He wants that. Instead I just stare him down, until he pushes me against the wall and wraps a hand round my windpipe and starts to squeeze. I know from experience fighting makes it worse, so I just close my eyes and wait. I'm not near real danger yet. He shakes his head a little, and lets  go. Then he starts kissing my neck and I want to weep.

 

" _Is this really what you want?"_

 

In response he pins my shoulders back, arm across my collarbones and grins at me, feral. Then he starts unbuckling his pants. He steps in and breath hot in my ear whispers "I'm told you're very permissive. Aren't you, sweetheart? Fucking patterned with it. Because you loved Fox so much and he taught you" and he pushes in. "Penguin was right. You are just so _well_ behaved. Still **wet**. I don't think you know any _better_." I turn my head away. "No. You'll look at me." And I'm so fucking angry with him. " _Come on then baby, fuck me. You know what you want to be. So take it. Isn't that what you do?"_ In response, he backhands me- first one side, then the other, and it makes my head spin. Then he touches my cheek and says " _Pretty_ color. It's a nice lie. One day I'm going to stamp it right there, across the line of your cheek, so all the world will know how **rotten** you really are."

 

" _Fuck you._ " I spit it at him. He laughs. "No baby I'm fucking you. Don't get _confused_." And then he does. And the hurt simmers _beneath_ my skin, waiting to spew out, poison of its own. "Well that won't do" he mutters, and the bastard puts his hand between my legs and starts touching me. "No. Don't you fucking dare" but he laughs, because it ends in a groan and " **That's it** " and he comes, leaning into my neck, _soundless_.

 

The moment he relaxes I push him back and pull on my jeans. That's enough. That's _enough_ _enough_ _enough_ _enough_ _enough_ \- when he interrupts my thought. "Where are you going?" I pull on a fisherman's sweater I find in his drawers and pull my hair up. "Anywhere **but** here right now. Don't even try. I'm leaving for a couple of hours. If I stay here right now I'll put a knife in your gut while you sleep."

 

He _doesn't_ stop me.

 

I walk out into the darkness, wandering. It's probably dangerous, but I don't care at the moment. I don't care care care care care. I'm distracted by the words when I notice a tattoo parlor, one of the shitty all night ones. That'll do. I step down the stairs into a hospital lit room, reams of designs on the walls. But I know what I want. It takes 3 hours, and at first it hurts in a way that seems appropriate, and then, later, it feels good. At the end my skin is raised, irritated, satisfying, and I have a square bandage on my cheek, and one covering my wrists. Diamond chains on either wrist, and rotten slashed across my cheek. The only reason I don't have Permissive on my shoulder is because I'm not carrying enough cash so I have to stop. I pull out my phone and call in sick to work.

 

 _Calmed_. _Calming_. Breathing. Sick _sick_ **sick** _sick_. **Permissive**.  Permissive. Permissive **rotten** _rotten_ **rotten** **rotten** **calm** _calm_ _calm_ calm. When I get outside he's standing there like some kind of black shadow. I don't acknowledge him, I just go back to the bar and climb the stairs, him following like some kind of avenging- I don't know. I feel like he's _stolen_ my words. 

He follows me up, and I shuck my clothes, climbing into the great raft of a bed, and curling up. I hope sleep will come quickly, and I wrap my hands round my knees and close my eyes against the morning light. I feel him settle next to me, and I can't help but squeeze my eyes tight against the tears that threaten. He pulls the bandage across my cheek off, thumb stroking as he goes. It makes me wince, and I hear his sharp intake of breath. He replaces it, gently, carefully, and then settles more heavily next to me. He strokes my hair, and the pain in my chest is sharp. It's forgetting the most _basic_ rule of childhood- don't take something that doesn't belong to you, especially not without asking- and I can hear my father saying it to me.

 

The difference between care, and violation- well, it's in the fractured bones that grow in all the missing pieces of you - the opportunities lost, paths not taken, mistakes made. How much pain can you take before you run **mad** with it? So: **What** do you believe? **What** **do** you believe? **What** **do** **you** believe? **What do you believe**?

 

And later, still: he curls around me, warm breath on my neck and I don't say anything at all- _he's stolen all my words_ \- and another secret darkly, deeply, blooming all around us like a hole you'll never fill.

"You have to be **mine** " he whispers in my ears, ringing clear as a bell.

 

So, baby- what are _you_ missing?

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes for the Chapter  
> Songs here are  
> Monster, by Meg Myers  
> Innocence by Nero  
> Misiriou, the song played in Penguin’s bar, is from the opening scene of Pulp Fiction- when Honey Bunny and Clyde rob the diner.  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jomr9SAjcyw  
> You can watch it here- if the link doesn’t work, search Honey Bunny Pulp fiction opening scene- the song is the first one.  
> And for the non consent, Radiohead - Everything In Its Right Place (Dibby Dougherty & David Young's 'DhARMA' Remix).  
> It has a creeping sense of fear- but is also suggestive. I almost chose NIN’s Closer but it felt a bit obvious.
> 
> And for the ending:  
> Well, only one thing fits: Bedroom Wall. You’ll understand why when you get there.


	18. Interlude, or The Clock Ticked Forward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is an Interlude Chapter, like 3.  
> Next will be chronologically after Chapter 17, and we'll be back to normal programming.
> 
> Songs: Streetlight Die Antwoord and I drove you Crazy by Banks

* * *

 

 **It's all a joke! Everything anybody ever valued or struggled for... it's all a monstrous, demented gag! So why can't you see the funny side? Why aren't you _laughing_?” **  
― The Killing Joke

 

* * *

 

Harley Quinn is strapped down like a dog. The cold metal of the gurney against her cheek is a relief. Her entire body is throbbing with pain- her back a well of bruising and dried blood. The Enchantress had been such a shitty villain, she didn’t even take her out, and Harley was not going to resist. Not in a world without J. Her skin is shining whitely in the darkness, but her eyes are closed -

listen closely, she's _humming_ softly.

 

**hmm hmm i do believe**

**hmm hmm in all the things you see**

**hmm hmm what comes is better**

 

The cell she's in is cold and dark, but she's humming with fever and infection. The heat is flooding over her skin like a too hot bath, and she'd give just about anything to be cool. Once the pain would have bothered her. The filth would have too. Being strapped down- well. But now, now the only thing she wants is **cool**. She closes her eyes, still that startling blue, and remembers how cool he was to the touch. How no matter how hot it was, she could curl against him, and feel coolness like water. She had believed before she changed that she would be cool too, but just as he lost his memories from before, she did not, and Harley had always run hot. Not that it mattered now.

 She had known, falling to her death the first time, that they would never- could never have **normal**. It was a setting on the fucking dryer. It didn't really matter though- she'd given it her best shot, and it had flowed through her fingers, cut glass in sand. She remembered with clarity the last loss- the last wound- and how he had leaned his cool face against her fevered one, and begged her to listen- 

 _Harley- you have to want to come back. You have to want it, and it'll burn. But if you don't, you won't come back. I need you to come back, baby. Promise you'll live for me._ She'd been in his arms, delirious with sickness- that last try for normal had cost more than either of them would bear, and she was so close to dying it was hard to listen, hard to see his face. But she knew what the coolness was. He'd shook her, repeating himself, and she knew it was important but she couldn't tell him that she couldn't- couldn't swim. 

And he'd touched his cold cheek to hers, and it had made her close her eyes- all she wanted  was to sleep.  _If you leave me, I'll never forgive you. And I'll always come back to you. Promise. Promise me_ \- and his voice had cracked, and she'd nodded- the slightest one, and it had been the beginning of the meanness between them, the real meanness. Because he'd had to come in after her, and he'd never forgiven her, never forgiven her not coming back up.

He hadn't _known_ she couldn't swim. And she'd been so angry, so angry when she came back and her box of things was gone, and it was all cleaned up. She never got to let it go, she'd been too sick and he'd just wiped up the mess like it had never happened, and she'd never got to fucking grieve. And so they'd licked their wounds separately, and she'd never told him. Then that stupid night, that stupid stupid night, the year after, when her itches had scratched beneath her skin, and all she'd wanted to do was make something, _anything_ else hurt- something so she wouldn't feel the ache. Anything at all. But she'd been blinded, so blind. He'd been hurting too, and they'd gone tearing down the narrows at 180kmh an hour, out of control, laughing, anything not to feel it, and the Bat had come. And they'd torn down to the docks, still laughing, and he'd driven the purple car off the pier-

 "Puddin, I can't swim" and she still hadn't gotten the words out in time. And the events after- the moment in the copter when she'd thought thank God we're going home, and Waller had shot it out of the sky- she'd dropped and now he was dead and she'd never feel his coolness against her skin again. With her eyes closed she can almost feel his hand against her face- almost almost almost. Now here she is, fevered, waiting to die, the seconds counting. Clock ticking forward on the wall. 

 She's reaching for his hands in her mind when she hears the clicking in the hallway, and she knows what it means. She holds the coolness in her mind, keeps her eyes closed. She knows what's going to happen, already feels her grip slipping. She keeps her eyes closed, waiting for the bastards hot hands on her. Instead she feels a needle prick in her arm, and the whistling sound makes her want to sob. He'll lose control and soon, soon she'll be able to die. All our beginnings are in our endings and there is no escape. She had thought Bats was crazy, but not this crazy. But he'd have to be sanctioning it. Not that it matters now- she won't stay without Puddin's coolness. She won't.

She opens her eyes at last, expecting Fox. But no- he's standing in the light, smiling that cool smile at her and she's thinking, thank fucking god he's come for me. I can let go now, and the ending is right there- the end of the story, but at least she loved and she doesn't regret it. They tried and that's all she could ask, and she wishes he was living so that she could unstick the silence between them and say _You were enough. It was enough. It was everything anyone could ask, and sure we lost some things but I loved you. It was better than anyone could have asked for._

She giggles in the half light, laughing at the irony- realizations that come too late. Why didn't she take his hands then and tell him the truth. Her mother had used to say, so long ago, a thousand lifetimes ago that pride comes before a fall, and she'd been right. The laugh dislodges some blood in her throat, and she coughs it up, animal in the half light. Then his hand is there and she lifts her chin, just a little bit, reaching for the cool.

 But the hand is **warm**. His hands are warm. They're warm they're warm they're warm warm **warm**. Then his hot breath is in her ear "Do you **want** me now, Princess?" And she knows, knows it's a trick. She turns her head, far away as she can. He slams the table next to her head- her man, and not, furious with temper in that small child denied way that Fox has always had. "Why was he so much better than me- is he a better fuck? Is that it, you little whore?" She doesn't answer him- she can't look when it's confusing, and he looks like J, but he isn't. He isn't. And she holds onto the fact in her mind, struggles to hold on it. She hears clanks, and "Well, considering your major, have I got a treat for you." And she looks up and J's there, grinning cheekily at her. It's not him. He's dead, and she's repeating it in her mind, holding onto it- she can't let it slip, like real life sometimes does. She looks up again, and he's holding paddles- and he says- **"Oh you never thought I'd let you die? No baby, I'm just gonna hurt you, really, really bad.** " It's not his voice. It's not J, it's Fox.

He's gel-ing her temples, and his hands are warm. It's not Puddin. It's not not not **not** **not**.  _I'm not your baby. You're a fucking Monster, Lucius. You always were. I just didn't know better till a real man loved me_ and Harley giggles, cracked ribs hurting, hurting, hurting. Lucius touches the paddles to her head, and the pain flowing through her damaged body is indescribable. She might die, at last, she thinks. It's the only real thought that breaks through the electricity screaming through her brain like burning. When it lets up, she vomits a thin stream next to her head, and the acid in her throat burns too.

Fox leans in close- **it's not J, the voice is wrong**. "Kiss me. Tell me you love me. I'll make it stop." She doesn't say anything back, nothing at all. He groans, furious. "He's looking for you and he can't even find you. Loverboy is too pathetic to even find you - he just let you lie here in your own blood, while I fuck you and hurt you endlessly” Harley coughs and spits, pale in the half light, then giggles, madly. He's dead. _The Joker is dead and there's nothing left for me to do but die so I can follow after. I watched that chopper crash and burn. He’s dead. And one day you're gonna lose your temper mid fuck and slit my throat, and all I gotta do is wait and it'll be over, asshole._

He laughs and strokes her hair. "Oh Harleen. He's not dead. Half his face got all burned up. He's just useless. Sat in his fucking room for weeks while every idiot in Gotham looks for you. That's what you picked over me? Darlin, he's getting closer and he'll get here. And when he does, I'll take off his fucking head for what he did to you. You used to do as you were **told**. Then once he's dead, and you've watched, I'll keep doing this until my serum works. And then, baby, then I'll kill you."

 Then he touches the paddles to her head, and when it stops she's wondering why her puddin would do this to her- but he touches her again, and warm hands- and she **remembers**.  _You're lying, Fox. If he was alive, you'd be dead and I'd be at home_. Fox laughs, and reaches out and kneads a breast, and slips his hand between her legs. "No baby. He's alive. And he'll get here when I'm ready. But I'm not done yet. Not in the least." She hears the truth in it. Harley Quinn had trained as a shrink, she’s no fool. And this time, this time when he starts to fuck her, she screams. She screams out the sounds a **wounded** animal makes, screams until her throat is raw and she vomits.

 He's not **here**. He hasn't _come_. She'd thought he'd have to be dead. But he isn't and he didn't. The sound floats up the hallway, where Waller, hardened and full of vengeance and loneliness, had struck a deal with the devil. She's not even working, her hands covering her ears, wanting to see it through, when finally _Please. Please Daddy don't_. The cry is like a backhand, and she pushes back out of her chair and pulls her personal phone from her bag.

 Across the city, Johnny Frost races up the stairs from the bar, issuing orders into his phone. He blasts through the study door, and almost ends up at the wrong end of the Joker's knife, face scabbed but healing. "Come on Boss. We've found her. Call everyone, we're gonna go get her. We're running outta time, C'mon." Johnny grabs the Boss's hand and yanks him out, and the two men tumble down the stairs, pulling on weaponry, as a bevy of vans pull up outside the bar. Joker's pulling on his knives when Johnny swears "Fuck- and J yanks the phone out of his hands. The text just says "I know you'll kill me. But I can't watch anymore. She's screaming. Get here, now. I'll delay the Batman." Johnny Frost looks up at the Boss- and The Joker stands tall, and **roars** with fury. He sweeps out the doors, issuing orders to the men as he goes.

 In her cell, Harley Quinn has finally stopped screaming.

She just stares, watching her own blood, apple red, drip to the ground, and finally the Joker leaves her alone and at last the tears fall out of her, heart aching.

 _Why would Puddin do this to me? I thought you loved me_. She whispers it into the darkness, talking to somebody who isn't there to hear her.

There's no-one there to catch the words, at the last. No-one there to keep the monsters out. And she feels it, more keenly than ever- the monsters live inside, nestled in our fears, just waiting to **bloom** in our minds like toxic nightshade.

She'd _held_ on all this time, but now she can't tell. That last slam of electricity through her brain had done what it was designed to do- taken some away.

It took away what she had known- that The Jokers hands **always** ran cold. 

 

Harley Quinn is losing her _mind_ alone. All **alone.** It probably doesn't matter, anyway **. He doesn't love her. She knows it now.**


	19. Writer's Block

Hello my dear and appreciated readers,

I haven't forgotten you, and the majority of the chapters are outlined, some written ahead.  
But the next just isn't coming, and I've written it... it's just not working as it currently is.   
Rest assured, another chapter will be up and the fic is not abandoned, I'm simply really unhappy with it.

So stay tuned for more, and I'm hoping it'll come together in the next week!

Love, Evenstar xoxoxox


	20. Debts Repaid, Or, Clarity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear Reader,  
> It isn't a long chapter, but I'm back and working on the next.  
> I promise I'm back and I won't be gone so long again.

* * *

 

When I wake, she's deeply asleep, cocooned up against me, hot forehead against my chest.  
For a moment, it's nice, but then I see the bandage on her cheek, and awareness comes back. I feel guilty, but my cock hardens and the truth is that I like it. The truth is usually lying between what we say, and what we never would, right in the sticky middle of all the things we'd rather ignore.

I slip quietly out of bed. It's occurred to me that it's possible there is a way to even the score.

* * *

When I wake up, it's late. The only reason I'm even moving is that the light is fading- it's almost evening. I pull on the sweater I was wearing yesterday, and slip downstairs to make some tea. My whole body aches. And it's hard to resist the desire to do anything, anything not to feel it. I sit on one of the kitchen stools, and rub my head, waiting for the kettle. The minutes seem interminable, stretched like strands of glue.

I wander into the next room and lacking anything else, turn on the television. Two pompous reporters are rambling something about the Wayne building. It's hard to concentrate- my head hurts too badly. I crunch down some excedrin, which I'm shocked to find in a cupboard, and sit to watch. The building has a body on it, and the man's skin is stretched out like wings. Sprayed underneath is "We're coming." The reporters are rambling something nonsensical, I don't even care. I sit in the lounge, still, until the light has faded, until it's so dark I have to get up to turn on the light.

I head into the kitchen, and get started on roast chicken and gravy.

* * *

By the time I make it back, the club is thumping, and the smell of something delicious wafts out from the back. I come through to find Pam, Johnny, and Harley all sitting at the table, eating. She's taken the bandage off her cheek, and obviously Pam's treated it. It's sharp and clear, but still, she looks up and smiles, a full, happy smile, and climbs out of the chair she's sitting on backwards, and pulls a plate from the oven. She's wearing one of her tiny t-shirts and a pair of jeans that sit tight on her waist. I take a seat, and I'm surprised when, as she sets the plate down, she kisses me on the cheek and touches hers to mine, before sitting in her chair, knees up. She doesn't comment on the bandage on my forehead, but Pam, being the interfering bloody nosey she is, pulls it off with one of her creepers.

She laughs and jabs me in the ribs. "What is that supposed to be? An announcement?"

* * *

I look up at Pam's words, intrigued. He's stamped, in neat cursive- __damaged__ across his forehead like a branding.

Rotten and damaged. Kinda works, and I can't help but grin at him. He seems surprised, but after a moment's hesitation, smiles back.

"You two are disgusting" Pam goads, smearing his head in something herbal, and the redness disappears. But he doesn't rise to the bait, just sits, quietly eating. He doesn't look up again until he's finished, and Pam and Johnny are talking, but I can't focus. He stands, and holds out a hand to me. "Wanna come and watch a movie?" he asks, quietly.  
Pam's gaping at him, but I just step out of my chair, and head round the table. I take his hand, and we head through to the living area. He slides his jacket off, and pulls his holster off, too. He sits lithely down on the couch, and beckons to me. Instead of taking the proffered seat next to him, I sit down in his lap, and he has to adjust his legs for me. I run a thumb over his forehead, the blackness dark. He doesn't wince, just looks at me. I put my cheek against his, the one with rotten on it, and he says "Not everything deserves forgiveness." I just settle up against his chest, and he says "What would you like to watch?" I shrug, and he turns on Beauty and The Beast. I can't help but laugh. He laughs too, a warm, throaty chuckle and-

it isn't perfect. It'll never be perfect. But it's enough. It's all you could ask for. It could stay enough.  
He folds up my sweater sleeves and strokes the needlemarks with the pads of his thumbs, absently.

I sit there in the still, and at last, find the words- _Some things are too rotten for fixing._

Of course the peace doesn't last. It never does, but we take the time, still, to sit in the darkness and find a moment- and it matters. People are like tectonic plates. Crashing against each other, looking for a fault. Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings, like Anais Nin said.

I hold his hands so tightly in mine, his knuckles whiten in the darkness. But he doesn't wince, doesn't let go.

* * *

Across the city, a man is lying in the dark, screaming. He's never felt such fear in his whole life, and he just wishes it would stop. The Batman has taken his filthy brand and stamped it on his back, and the edges of the wound are covered in grit from his other... victims.

He screams again, then pants

"Up and up and up it goes, but never grows, Batsy!".  
In response a swirl of dark cloak turns and plunges the brand into the back of his neck, holding it till it sizzles.  
The man bent in two howls- you wish you could see his face.

But it's not until Batman grabs him by the hair and hisses in his ear "Tell The Joker I want her back. I want her back how she was." that his face catches the light. The scream catches in your throat like burning and it takes all your effort not to let it out.

**It's Eddie.**

You turn tail and run into the dark tunnels of the city, stopping to vomit hot acid and wipe your sweaty forehead only when you're far enough away that the scream escapes you and you're barely even done before you turn, and run- towards the house with the lights- by the time you make it past the screech of city cars and fall through the lit open doors-into the arms of a tall blonde woman with a cat eared headband.You fall to your knees- "It's Eddie, with the Bat- outside the bar in Thieves Alley. He told Eddie to get the Joker. Hurry!"  
Message delivered, you slide to the ground and slide into easy darkness.

 

It's better than seeing __Eddie__ , lovely Eddie, hurt and screaming like a wounded animal. You won't sleep tonight, but that's not so different from the usual.

* * *

 


	21. Heartbreak, or no more past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You think its scary. Take the bottom out. It is always darkest before its pitch black.
> 
> Songs for the Chapter:
> 
> Gemini Feed, by Banks
> 
> 100 Needles for Zil, by Maggie Smith Music
> 
> Meg Myers, Desire

* * *

_Just a little more, a little more, sweet absolution_

_Kiss me till I cry, beat me till I try, to find resolution_

_I feel sane._

 

_100 Needles for Zil by Maggie Smith_

* * *

 

She bends to the floor, tiny in the light, and wipes down the girls face, as Johnny lifts her to the bar couch.  
She kisses her on the forehead, gently, and says, sleep well sweetheart. It's all in the space of a few moments, then she's pounding up the stairs, and comes back down with her, and my weaponry. I'm surprised by her calm, but she's gone somewhere else, the little girl I care for unreachable.   
It doesn't matter, for now, Eddie needs us. We sweep out of the bar, quickly, quietly, organized. We clamber into the back of the car, and head for the alley, quiet. She's withdrawn into the silence, and the seconds count, tick, tick tick.

I stop her before we spread into the alley, and kiss her on the forehead, but she's sweating, and already, not here, head turned from me, rotten stark on her cheek in the light. I want to stroke her hip, bring that alive person back. But she strides off through the double doors, voice high and clear in the momentary silence.

It takes me a moment to catch up, kneeling behind a car- but her voice echoes into silence- **"You called for me?".**  
But in a way, it isn't a question, as if she has known all along, known that some things are pleasant moments and we cannot keep them. She walks forward, seemingly unafraid, beautiful in the half light. I step forward, but the Bat hasn't heard her. He's holding something down on Eddie's back, and the stench of barbecue fills the air, and I feel the hunger. Hunger for an impending fight, and for the smell. He doesn't turn, humming something that sounds like an american revolution tune. She plants a knife in his shoulder, precise. She hit a gap in the plates. Before she's let go the bastard grabs her hand and bites down on her palm, expression lascivious. It's hard enough to force her to her knees, though she doesn't cry out. Just says **"Let Eddie go."**

He laughs, teeth bloody and snaps her ring finger back, then the next. Eddie and I move forward, fast, quiet, but he holds a blade to her throat.   
Back off, he hisses. Then he snaps another, and then another, until finally he reaches her pinky and she cries out, and I understand this is what he wanted. But where's Fox? He grins and licks her pinkie, then looks up. His eyes are haunted, and he runs a hand along her cheek. He steps back and lets go, backhanding her.

I SAID how she was! and he turns, running into the darkness. She collapses from her knees to her side, clutching her bloody hand, but she doesn't cry. I signal to Johnny to get Eddie, and go to pick her up, but she hits me with her broken hand and sobs like a wounded animal. **Don't touch me.** It's venomous, come deep in the belly, from somewhere else entirely. I stand still, trying to stare her down, but she isn't there. Lost. I ignore the rage, the way she kicks and pick her up anyway, tucking her injured hand to my chest, kissing her palm. She struggles, then turns her head away and it's the work of minutes to take her back to the car. She thumbs her wounded hand all the way back to the bar and disappears into the back.

I stay a moment, while Johnny cleans Eddie up.  
"That was something different, J. You'd best find out" and he nods towards the bar back, as Johnny wipes down his stripes. I nod. "Scarecrows coming." I turn on my heel and follow her, not even Pam interferes this time. She's on the bedroom floor, broken fingers held to her mouth. I sit, back against the bed and pull her head into my lap, stroking her hair. I don't attempt to touch the hand. She remains still, passive, unresponsive.

Well are you going to tell me what that was about? Why does the Bat want you too? But she ignores me, nuzzles into my lap and despite myself I feel my cock harden- so does she- nuzzling her cheek into it-

* * *

 

I slip his warm cock into my mouth- they're so easy, you see, even he'll let it go, let go of the soft little girl, the terrible things- and I suck hard, palming his cock, coaxing. He hardens quickly, hands stroking my hair more urgently. They all disappoint, all fuck when you don't want to, demand answers when you can't give them-

* * *

  
She sucks me in down to the balls, and I want to groan, bitten, bleeding hand stark on my thigh, fingers clearly in the wrong place. I came to fix this, but she sucks harder and for a minute, there's nothing at all there, but _"Harley.. why the Bat. Where's fox?"_ She ignores me and clambers into my lap, massaging with her broken hand she takes me in in one stroke, and moves teasingly, in small circles, a hand on my chest, the gesture almost pushing me away. I go to stroke her clitoris, but she slaps me hard, across the face, and makes that sound that mothers make when you steal a cookie. Instead she speeds up, riding me harder and all I want to do is touch her- and I can't hold it. And she hasn't answered a single question, and she stands and cracks her fingers back in place.

She strides out.

**"Don't follow me".**

I collect myself, and head backdown stairs, and question Eddie into the morning light, till Scarecrow barrels in and and kisses him all over his face, hands in his hair and tucks himself into Eddies shoulder, and I understand why they are what they are. When I go up, she's not there. She's downstairs, hanging from the ceiling beams, looking like she'd rather be anywhere but here.  
I leave her be.

For once, sleep comes fast and easy.  
I wake the next night, and she still isn't here. But I'm late, and I dress quickly and head downstairs. I'm relieved to see she's on the floor with Ivy, glowing.. Ivy and she turns her head to me, and her eyes are blank. Harleen isn't there. She grinds against Ivy and Ivy kisses her, and smiles that disingenous smile at me and suddenly, I understand-

She's like a feral child, none of the emotional signals work the right way. I want to pull her from the floor, but I don't. I know, now, that I might turn my head and instead of dancing with me, she'll be dancing with someone else. She kisses Ivy's neck, and i turn sharply and walk outside, into the coming darkness.

She isn't normal. I knew that. The question.. the question is- and I fold myself into the dusk, the gathering storm-clouds in the broken city a relief compared to the problems inside. Harley, dangerous. Harleen, sweet. And she doesn't remember, whereas me- by virtue of what I am, I remember everything. None of the pieces make anything resembling whole. They never will. Some clocks cannot be turned back, and some lost things will never be found.

**It's enough to break your heart.**

 

* * *

 

 

 


	22. The Final Decree

**Madness isn't a symptom, it's a part of the disease. Don't be fooled.**

* * *

 

The next days are like being lost. I know I should know what the bat meant. My hand reminds me that I should know. But I can't remember. Not remembering makes me panicky, sick to the gut with fear. There is nowhere to run from all of this havoc. I go to work and treat the regular mad ones- Anna looks at the shadows under my eyes and says nothing, has me fill in endless forms like any of it matters. I walk in and out of normal life like a stray cat, leaving work and drinking until the world is soft at the edges. I'd fuck someone else, in fact I long for the oblivion, but he sits there every night in his booth, watching me self destruct- but he does nothing. Just watches, hands folded neatly in his lap. Sometimes he works- the only sign of the stress is that he smokes all night, but he doesn't stop me- not the dancing, or the drinking, or the drugs. He just watches. It makes me antsy, too. I even dance, turning the crowd into a throbbing pile of suppressed need. Still, he does nothing. It's like a clock ticking on the wall. The seconds counting down to something I don't know how to find. In the morning hours I wander the rooms and then the bar, a facsimile of the things lost in my mind.

* * *

I'm waiting. She has to know. Fox was our central player, she said nothing about the Batman, aside from his heroic rescue. But he bit her like a man who fucked her first, and I won't be played a fool. But instead of telling me she drinks, dances, uses. Wanders around as if she'll never sleep again. The smudges under her eyes darken to blue, and still she remains silent. I don't like being lied to. The next night she sits, drunker than usual, making patterns at her bar table with the salt shaker. **That's enough.**

* * *

 

He walks towards me and I feel angry- leave me alone. I don't know what to tell you. Instead he walks deliberately past me, so close I could smell him. I can't help it. I follow him outside. "Where are you going?" and hate myself for my weakness. But I know the answer already.

**Anywhere but here.**

He turns, quiet, composed, and utterly in control of himself.

I want you gone, Harley Quinn. You don't belong here. You never did. If you can't tell me, explain why you are the way you are this is no home for you. Be gone by the time I get back.

In my mind all I hear is there is no home. No going home. **Home**. And the very last piece holding me together falls away and all that remains is a shadow- no human worth, not loved, the warmth and safety gone. No moments left to say I love you.

Just the **silence** around my being like black shadow, _nothing at all left to prove_. Nothing left to offer but a map laid out like countries I couldn't name.


	23. To all my readers- Goodbye

To My dear readers-

Thank you for coming on this journey with Harley and the Joker.  
I am sorry, but there will not be any more.

The ending is written- I will post it within the next couple of weeks (it's currently inaccessible).  
But it is a happy ending, and I have no idea how to get from here to there.  
You see, this was inspired by a **real** love story.

The kind of love people usually only talk about. It traveled many thousands of miles, and at last, will go no farther, and reach no higher.  
To all the girls reading this and dreaming that love will conquer all- be careful.

There are some things it cannot survive, and you cannot make the clock tick backwards.  
You **cannot** undo what you did, no matter what the circumstances were. No matter how much you may **regret** them. Some things cannot be undone.

I thought it was appropriate to stop here- with _The Final Decree._  
Harley has no home, and the Joker cannot love someone he believes is mad. She isn't. But it no longer matters.

"She's madder than he is". 

Perhaps one day I will know how to take it from here to the ending I planned, but for now-

The Joker looks over and sees Harley turning away, and all the I love you's in the world cannot save them. Not this time.  
**No matter how much I wish it could.**

**You see, without the belief, and safety, and love that I had, I cannot write them home. I simply do not have what is required to do so.**

I hope you enjoyed the journey anyway,  
Evenstar


End file.
